


Crazy in love

by ThisBirdWithoutACage



Series: Twisted Tales [2]
Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Antique Shops, Beast plays piano, Dark elements, F/F, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Human!Beast, It Gets Worse, M/M, Masturbation, Mpreg, Running Away, Snowstorms in April, Teacher-Student Relationship, There is more going on in this small town than people know, They live in Pottsfield, Unhealthy Relationships, Vaguely described though, Wirt and Greg's mother is Chinese, Wirt has low self-worth, i don't know why, piano lessons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-07-13 02:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7135271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisBirdWithoutACage/pseuds/ThisBirdWithoutACage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally, things weren't supposed to get so out of hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Since a lot of you liked When dark met light, I decided to make it a series of twisted and darkish stories that are unconnected unless stated otherwise. This one doesn't have Gods and Goddesses, but it does deal with illegal and unhealthy relationships. You'll see why in the later chapters because I will add more tags later. Not all the stories will have happy endings and from the looks of this one, it won't end happily. 
> 
> And look! A story where Yin Wei isn't a baby! Yeah, anyway, read away!

Originally, things weren’t supposed to get so out of hand.

He curled up against the corner of the bathroom, hand shaking with terror. He placed his head in his hands, shaking his dark head and muttering “No,” to himself over and over again. This could not be happening; never in a million years did he think this would happen. What would his friends say? What would his mom and step-dad say? What would his father do when he found out?

What would _he_ do?

He sniffled, wiping the tears that burned against his dark gray eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him. This kind of stuff happened in the movies, or to girls who were messing around too much. This couldn’t be happening to him! Was this some sort of punishment? Had he truly done something so wrong to deserve this?

“What am I going to do?” he murmured to himself, continuing to wipe his eyes. “What am I going to do?”

It was a strange thing to think about. None of this would be happening if he hadn’t stepped into classroom 123, a Junior English class that last January. If he had never signed up for English poetry, then none of this would have happened. Things wouldn’t have spiraled out of control like this. It was all his fault; he should have been more careful.

In hindsight, he should have realized this was not a good idea. It should have never happened to begin with, but as that old saying goes “the heart wants what the heart wants.” Perhaps that was not the right way of thinking, but did it really matter at this point? Everything was all said and done. There was no going back now.

_When everything had turned to black_

_You don't know where to go_

_You need something to justify your soul_

_Silences are broken_

_Confidence is gone_

_When everything you're holding onto **falls**_

“There is a little-acknowledged side to love, one that exists as surely as the soft sighs and lovely longing and deep, driving desire. That other side to love is fear. Without first knowing love, how can one truly understand fear?”

Standing in the front of the classroom, leaning against his desk, Mr. Blackwood looked at his class with an expectant expression on his pale face. Even with the heaters turned on full blast with a majority of the students pink faced and sweating, he looked perfectly at ease with his black turtleneck sweater and dark jeans. His long arms crossed over his chest and pale eyes observing each member of his classroom, like a predator picking out his prey. Or in this case, his victim.

The sun, beating through the industrial-sized windows for a majority of the afternoon, half blinded him. Tapping his pencil quietly against the white blue lined paper scribbled with notes in a semi-bored fashion. Normally Wirt was very attentive in class. Quiet, but actively listening and scribbling down notes in a hurried fashion. When he could find the nerve to speak, it was only rarely and his voice was usually too soft for a majority of people to hear. He watched with shifty eyes as a few students pondered the question, while a few others looked absolutely lost.

“Mr. Blackwood,” a hand from the front row of the classroom lifted. Valentina Romano leaned back in her seat with a slender eyebrow raised in question. “Isn’t this an English class and not a philosophy course?”

“I don’t see why we can’t have complex questions in this class,” Mr. Blackwood countered, though he could tell the man was amused by the girl’s question. “To understand the poem we just read, we have to look at it deeply and try to see what the poet could be trying to teach us.”

“I guess.”

“Does anyone have an answer?” Mr. Blackwood asked again, looking around the room with those pale, almost colorless gray eyes. The orbs met his for a brief moment and he found himself flushing pink. He prayed to whatever God was up there that the tall, sometimes very strict, teacher would not pick him. He had no answer to give; this was very deep question that he himself could not answer. Mr. Blackwood sighed, probably out of disappointment and headed to the back of his desk, picking a paper up. “Well, I suppose since no one has an answer, we’ll have to move on. I was taking a look at your monthly poems I have assigned and while some of you did a decent job, there was one in particular I enjoyed. Wirt, would you like to share your poem with the class?”

Crap, crap, crap! He felt his cheeks burn as every single pair of eyes in the room turned to him. He knew very well Mr. Blackwood did not take no for an answer, leaving very little room for argument. From the seat three spaces away, Sara Granger gave him a supportive smile, her thumb pointing upwards. Jason Funderberker gave a weird smile and nudged the girl next to him to get her attention. Annie Poolcheck, rolled her eyes and moved her expression away from the window. Not surprising that she didn’t care.

He shuffled his way to the front of the classroom, heart slamming against his ribcage. He took the paper with clumsy hands; face still the same shade of fiery crimson. Everyone’s eyes were on him, daring him to mess up; daring him to utter a word. His breath hitched when he felt Mr. Blackwood’s pale, ice cold hand on his shoulder. It was a brief pat, urging him to continue and not waste any more time standing up there looking like an idiot.

“O…Okay, so nobody likes poetry,” he started in a nervous tone, eyes glued to the paper in his hands. “But do they not like the sun? The moon? Do they not like the sound of crickets? The smile of an old friend? The scent of a peach? I ask you…what is the world if not poetry? The stars, but shattered glass against a shrouded sky. The sea-sick fields ever waving goodbye. A misplaced soul sailing parts unknown with the hope, and the dread, of returning home. A tragic poem, the world is. But somehow, every morning, a sunrise.”

He handed the paper back to Mr. Blackwood, quickly hurrying back to his seat without releasing the breath he’d been holding. A few people still stared at him, but most were now paying attention to what Mr. Blackwood was saying. He couldn’t hear anything; the blood roaring in his ears as he tried to calm down. Breathe, deep breaths, it’s over, you did it. He tried to reassure himself, eventually finding the relief.

“For tomorrow, I want you to read pages fifty to sixty in your textbook. And you better do it or you’ll be lost tomorrow. Take extra care with notes because there will be things on the test we won’t go over,” the older man paused, the shrill of the bell jumpstarting motion in the mass of twenty or so students in the room. “That will be all for today. I’ll see you all tomorrow afternoon.”

He shoved his notebook unceremoniously in his backpack, zipping it up and throwing it over his back. Sara waltzed over to his desk, Jason, Valentina, and Annie gravitating there as well. Her chocolate colored eyes glittered calmly, a reassuring smile on her face. “That was amazing, Wirt!” she exclaimed in a collected tone, a hand resting on his arm gently. “You should write a book!”

“Yeah, Wirt,” Jason followed up in that nasally voice of his. “Sara’s right.”

“No, no,” he flushed again, already feeling the sweat gather over his body. He had pliantly of deodorant in his bag, right? “I’m not that good, really. And…and nobody’d read my book.”

“I would,” Sara voiced, Valentina nodding in agreement. “And your poem was a lot better than mine. Nobody else I know has a way with words like you do.”

“Wirt, could I speak to you for a minute?”

He jumped, not expecting Mr. Blackwood to be standing behind him. Sara smiled at their teacher, nodding her head and glancing over quickly at him. “We’ll meet you outside, okay?” she asked, already on her way out the door. Jason followed quickly behind, with Valentina and Annie not far; hands joined together. The classroom, filled with posters of famous writers and poets, along with a few artifacts gathered from around the world. He followed his teacher to the front of the classroom again, shouldering his backpack nervously. “D…Did I do something wrong?” he stuttered, the nervousness that had evaporated earlier now resurfacing.

“No,” Mr. Blackwood shook his head, gray eyes catching the afternoon light of the sun, making them appear silver. Or like how light looked when it reflected off a mirror. The man adjusted a piece of his dark sandy blonde hair, a soft sigh escaping his soft, thin lips. “There is something I was meaning to ask you earlier, but I completely forgot about. I offer an apology for my procrastination,” he paused, looking at him with a composed, business like face. “I ran into your mother earlier this week in her antique store. I just moved to this town earlier last summer, with a bunch of antiques I’ve collected earlier over the years. Your mother informed me that she grew up in Beijing and I have a few assortments of things I’ve collected from my trip to Asia years ago. She invited me to dinner tonight and I meant to ask you earlier if you were okay with that.”

When had his mother done this? How did she forget to bring up that his English teacher was coming over for dinner? Couldn’t she have just said, “Oh hey Wirt, hope you don’t mind, but I invited your English teacher over for dinner. Have a nice day!” No, she hadn’t done that. This was the first time he’d heard of it and quite frankly, it felt…weird. Not that Mr. Blackwood was weird! Heavens no, the man was perfect!

Okay…he did not just say his English teacher was perfect. His cheeks flushed pink at the very thought, but the image was already there. Yes, Mr. Blackwood was ranked the number one most attractive teacher in the school. How this happened, he wasn’t quite sure, but the man quickly replaced Mr. Smith, who had been voted number one long before he was in high school. He had a feeling Pacifica, Mabel, Candy, Grenda, and Valentina were behind this; it seemed right up their alley.

Mr. Blackwood arrived at Pottsfield high in September, the start of his junior year. He didn’t have a class with him first semester, but he had already heard quite a bit about him. He was a strict, no nonsense man who pushed his students harder than the previous English teacher, Mrs. Whitely, did. The man had been born in Wales, but moved to the United States as a child. He had two PHD’s in music and English and had attended four years at Harvard and two years at graduate school before deciding to move to the small town of Pottsfield and teach high school English. Why their small town instead of somewhere else? It was a mystery to everyone.

He was unbelievably attractive, even some of the boys at school would admit that. Bill Cipher, one of the most notorious seniors at the school had the nerve to tell him this. Mr. Blackwood just looked at him, flashed him a smile and said he wasn’t his type. The whole school went into uproar and he was surprised the English teacher wasn’t in trouble for saying that.

“So, do you have any concerns with me coming over?”

He blinked, now embarrassed by the fact he’d been spacing out. Mr. Blackwood looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. “Oh, uh, sure?” he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, feeling like a complete idiot. “Yeah, uh, it’s fine.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Blackwood flashed a smile, his perfect white teeth almost blinding. He placed a cold hand on his shoulder, patting it firmly. A friendly gesture that made the color in his cheeks darken and a tingle run down his body. “Then I’ll see you later on tonight. Have a good afternoon.”

The blonde turned away, sitting at his desk to begin grading more papers. Swallowing hard, he walked quickly out of the room. He moved through the mass of students heading or hanging out around their lockers. Coats were being put on in a flurry; joyful chatter that the day was done echoing around him. He found the water fountain, taking in much needed water for his dry throat.

“What did he want?”

He almost hit his head on the fountain head, water spluttering out of his mouth. Mabel Pines stared at him expectantly, batting her long eyelashes innocently. Standing next to her, her twin brother Dipper Pines smirked in amusement. “Geeze, you sure are jumpy today.”

“Don’t scare me like that!” he wiped his mouth, ignoring Mabel’s giggle. “Wait, how did you find out?”

“Jason,” Dipper shrugged, adjusting his hat with the blue pine tree on it. “We ran into him in the hallway. He was blabbing something about Mr. Blackwood holding you up for something. He thought maybe you had a bad grade or something; otherwise why would he want to talk with you?”

He knew Dipper didn’t mean it in an offensive way, but he bit back the spark of irritation. Why wouldn’t Mr. Blackwood want to talk with him? He was interesting! Sure, he liked poetry and clarinet, he was sometimes awkward to talk to, but he was as normal as everyone else. Kind of; maybe there was something wrong with him, but that was an issue that could be dealt with later.

“He’s having dinner at my house,” he responded, walking past them to head to his locker nearby. The twins followed enthusiastically, identical brown eyes widening at the information.

“What the hey-hey?” Mabel exclaimed, clearly astounded as she watched him open his locker and pull out several books to put in his backpack along with his clarinet stored at the bottom of the locker. “You’re having Mr. Blackwood come over to your house? THAT’S FREAKING AMAZING!”

“Ow, Mabel, my ear!” Dipper winced at his twin’s random outburst, eyeing her in irritation. He then looked to him with curious eyes. “I hear Mr. Blackwood doesn’t go over to anyone’s house; that he’s kind of, well, you know a lone wolf?”

He almost slammed his locker door shut, but kept himself in check. He shouldn’t be agitated, he knew it wasn’t fair to his friends, but these questions were annoying. And why was Jason going around gossiping? What were they, in middle school? “It’s not like I invited him over,” he grumbled, clutching his clarinet tightly, pushing open the doors to the exit. “My mom did. I guess she ran into him at her store.”

“You’re lucky,” Mabel sighed dreamily, hugging herself as she let out a little squeal of excitement. “No one else has had him in their home! This is so going on Flitter!”

“Oh no, please don’t!”

It was too late; the brunette’s fingers were already typing away at her phone with an excited grin on her face. Dipper only sighed, shaking his head and eyeing the other side of the exit with annoyance. Bill Cipher and his crew were currently harassing one Gideon Gleeful, the youngest teenager in the whole high school since he skipped a grade. Currently they were holding his backpack above his head, the boy jumping up and down trying to retrieve it.

“You guys can go on ahead,” the brunette adjusted his hat again, eyes focused solely on Bill. “I’m going to go take care of this.”

He watched as Dipper marched over to Bill, shouting something about leaving Gideon alone. Yes, leave it to Dipper to not stand bullying. Though to be fair, the youngest Pines twin was often bullied as a kid, so it made sense he didn’t tolerate it. Mabel sighed, shaking her head at her brother before glancing cheerfully at him. “I’ll catch you later, Wirt. I’m going to make sure Dipper doesn’t get in too much trouble,” she glanced over at Bill and his friends, a frown of disapproval forming. As she started walking over, she paused and quickly turned around, grinning at him. “You better text me later and tell me how the dinner went!”

He rolled his eyes, making a face. He knew full well that if he didn’t, she would keep hounding him about it till he did. From across the street, the elementary school kids flocked out and went to their bus stops or parents’ cars. Through the crowd, he could see his brother and sister waiting for him as they clutched each other’s hands to not get lost through the mass of youngsters. For a brief moment, he wondered if they knew they had a guest coming over for dinner, but highly doubted it.

With a reluctant sigh, he crossed the street, mentally preparing himself for the walk home and the visitor that would be coming in a few hours.

 _He lost himself once thrown in wild_  
They failed to know him, pass by mild  
Beauty around destroyed by breeze  
Dreams change canvass every minute crease

“Why didn’t you tell me my English teacher was coming over?”

He bemoaned this fact to his mother the moment they got home. The minute they stepped through the door, his nose was assaulted with the smells of soya paste and vegetables, the strong smells of hot and sour soup drifting along. He felt his mouth water and his stomach rumble with the reminder he hadn’t eaten much for lunch.

While his ten year old brother and six year old sister munched away at the apple slices sitting on the counter, he leaned against the doorframe, awaiting his mother to answer the question. She stirred at the contents in the pot, occasionally opening the oven to check on the spring rolls. “I thought I did?” she looked at him quickly, wincing slightly at his blank face. “I’m sorry; I thought I had told you.”

“Well obviously you didn’t.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, young man,” she scolded lightly, a hint of warning in her tone. She set the stirring spoon in the pot, flicking the switch on the stove to off. She looked over at him, dark gray eyes narrowed slightly. “It must have slipped my mind. He came into the store not too long ago and I guess we lost track of time talking. I invited him over because he seems nice and so we could discuss business in a more private setting. After dinner, of course.”

He huffed, blatantly ignoring the fact he sounded like a petulant child. How could she forget to tell him something important like this? “Did you have to invite him for dinner? Are you guys like, best friends now?”

“I don’t know why you’re making a big deal of this,” she sighed, opening the oven again and tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear. “All I did was invite him over for a simple dinner. Dave’s okay with it; he wants to know the man who’s rumored to be the most strict teacher in school. And Mr. Blackwood said your one of his best students.”

They’d talked about him? When? Oh wait, how foolish of him. Of course they talked about him at the store. From his spot near the counter, Greg looked to their mother with an ornery grin on his face. “Gossiping isn’t nice, Mom,” he told his, wagging a finger. “Who’s this guy coming over?”

“Wirt’s English teacher; he’s new to town,” their mother answered, taking out the spring rolls from the oven and setting them down on the cooling pads on the counter space next to him. “His name is Mr. Blackwood and you three must promise to be on your best behavior.”

“When aren’t we on our best behavior?” Greg asked innocently, batting his short eyelashes at her.

“Very funny, mister,” their mother chuckled, ruffling his dark blonde hair. “You, Wirt, and Yin Wei are good kids. But you must promise to be polite, alright? And Greg, don’t ask him too many questions.”

“I won’t,” the ten year old said in a very exasperated tone. “But what if he asks me questions?”

He didn’t stay to listen to the rest of it; he took that opportunity to sneak away upstairs to his room. He walked silently down the hall, pushing open the door to his room slowly. Dumping his book bag on the floor and letting his clarinet lay on his bed lazily, he pulled open his dresser drawer to look for something nice (but not too nice), to wear.

The more he shuffled through his clothes, past sweater vests and the two formal dress shirts that would now have to be ironed and hung again, it hit him. Why did he care so much that his teacher was coming over? It wasn’t like he was coming over just to gossip about him, right? Right? He pinched the bridge of his nose, now feeling rather silly. Why did he care so much what his teacher thought of him? It wasn’t like the man cared much for what people wore.

Wait; scratch that, yes he did. He knew for certain, though Mr. Blackwood never said it out loud, that he hated people who underdressed. He could see the way his pale gray eyes would narrow at the sight of someone wearing sweatpants, or something ratty to class. He had a feeling this was directed towards Annie, who adored sweatshirts, jackets, and sweatpants. If the short girl knew this, she most likely didn’t care.

In the end, he settled for a dark blue sweater, laying it out across his bed for later on. He stumbled over to his desk, flopping down in the chair ungracefully. His desk, always cluttered, was a comfort. He knew where everything was; and if something was missing he usually knew where to find it. Yet, Mr. Blackwood wouldn’t like a mess. The man’s desk at school was so neat and organized…

Wait, why did he care? He rubbed the back of his neck in irritation with himself. How many times did he have to tell himself that it was just Mr. Blackwood coming over? It wasn’t like the president was making a surprise appearance. Or worse, his father. It was just his English teacher. His precise, yet attractive English teacher.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he lifted his head from his position in his arms, cheeks now hot with shame. “Did I just say he was attractive?”

He did; there was no denying that. Why, oh, why did he have to think that? What if someone walked by and overheard him? He’d never be able to live it down! If Greg or Yin Wei heard, they’d go babble off to their mom or Dave. His mother would probably send him to a doctor just to make sure he wasn’t crazy! Or sick; something like that!

He groaned, running fingers through his hair. As he touched his shoulder, he swore he could still feel the presence of Mr. Blackwood. The feel of his cool, long pale fingers digging lightly into the curve of his warm shoulders. He shivered in spite of himself; face still that same shade of crimson.

He seriously needed to get control over his thoughts; this was just ridiculous.

_Dark and dreary,_

_Vines capturing my words,_

_Running inside twirling around,_

_Unorganized and lost,_

_My mind is a maze,_

_Confused and dazed_

“This is delicious, Mrs. Macavin. I don’t believe I had this the last time I was in Beijing.”

“Please, call me Xiāng Líng,” his mother addressed Mr. Blackwood politely, a warm smile on her face. “It’s called Jing Jiang Rou Si; it’s a traditional dish. It’s a shame you didn’t have it while you were there.”

“Yes, it is,” Mr. Blackwood nodded in agreement, taking another bite of the pork covered in soya paste. “I had a wonderful time in Beijing. I have to say it’s a very vibrant city. Although I have to insist you call me Dante, if you do not mind. ”

“It’s only fair, Dante. I’m glad you had a good time,” their mother nodded, lightly taking her wine glass and bringing it to her lips. “I haven’t been to the city in almost five years. The last time we went was for vacation right before Wirt began seventh grade.”

He was really hoping she wouldn’t bring up his name, but of course she did. He was half tempted to slump down in his seat, just so he could possibly shrink low enough to melt into the floor. Was that even possible? No, he knew it wasn’t. He just poked at his food, taking a few small bites to avoid looking at his mother and teacher. He knew Mr. Blackwood had looked at him a few times, as if expecting him to say something. He’d only spoken to him a few times that evening and for each question, he’d given one sentence responses.

Honestly, this was so awkward. Maybe if he’d had more time to prepare for his teacher coming over, this wouldn’t be so awkward.

“So, you’re from England, right? Dante was the name of Dante Alighieri’s character in his Divine Comedy, if I recall correctly,” Dave spoke, after swallowing his rice. “What brought you over to America?”

“I’m from Wales, actually,” Mr. Blackwood corrected, using his chopsticks in an expertise manner to pick up another piece of pork. “I was born in Cardiff and my mother was a well-known opera singer. My father and mother divorced a few years after I was born and he ran a law firm in London, so I didn’t get to see him that much. My mother had a strange sense of humor; naming me is only a reflection of her personality.”

 _“Funny,”_ he found himself thinking, surprised at the spark of similarity. _“I don’t see my father much either.”_

Mr. Blackwood continued smoothly, after a sip of red wine trickled down his throat, pale lips now slightly tinted. “When I was around Gregory’s age here, my mother and I moved to New York City. She’d just transferred companies, though I think part of the reason was she wanted to be further away from my father and her unsupportive family. I received Opera training at a young age and my mother pushed me to apply for Julliard, but I instead went to Harvard to study English and Music. Then later on I went to Graduate School and earned my doctorates.”

“You look so young; it must have been stressful,” Dave commented, earning a look from their mother for being so blunt. “It’s quite impressive.”

“Thank you,” if Mr. Blackwood was insulted or uncomfortable, he didn’t say anything. “It was a lot of work, but I do admit that I like being busy. It bothers me if I don’t have anything to do.”

For the longest time, it had just been their parents and Mr. Blackwood talking, with him and his brother and sister keeping quiet. Yin Wei never really said much anyway; they left Greg to do most of the talking for them. Now Greg spoke up, setting his own chopsticks down to look directly into Mr. Blackwood’s eyes. “How old are you?” he asked, looking a little confused. “And if you’re a doctor, why don’t you have a white coat?”

“Gregory!” Their mother shot the younger boy a warning look. “Honey, that’s an inappropriate question. Please apologize-“

“Oh no, it’s quite alright,” Mr. Blackwood flashed another perfect smile in her direction, the white of his teeth practically glistening underneath the lamplight. “It is an innocent question after all; I take no offense,” he then looked to Greg and answered his question. “I have recently turned thirty three, Gregory. Since you know how old I am, may I ask how old you are?”

“I’m ten,” Greg stated proudly, not noticing the tiny smirk on Mr. Blackwood’s lips. “And Yin Wei here is six and Wirt is seventeen!”

He wanted to crawl under the table when Mr. Blackwood’s eyes met his for a brief moment. “Good to know,” the older man stated, taking another long sip of wine. He set the glass down, gray eyes still fixed on him. “You’ll be a senior if I recall correctly, yes?”

Was Mr. Blackwood speaking to him? He blinked, now noticing five pairs of eyes staring at him from around the table. Shoot! “Oh, uh, yeah,” God, he sounded like a complete and utter moron stuttering in front of his teacher. Why was he just so damn hard to talk to? “I’ll be a senior next semester.”

“It’s an impressive time in one’s life, you have to agree with that,” Mr. Blackwood responded, though he believed it wasn’t addressed towards him. Rather he was addressing his mother and step-father, who both nodded in agreement. “I remember that time in my life. Such big decisions to make.”

“Agreed,” Dave nodded, picking up his wine glass to make a small toast. “So glad we got past it.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” his mother commented, a thoughtful look on her face. “Of course, I was the only Asian kid in my school system and I have to admit, going to a large college was relieving. So much more diversity and no annoying questions.”

“It must have been hard,” Mr. Blackwood inclined his head slightly, studying her with a steady gaze. “I remember my school and everyone thought that because I had an accent, I was automatically from England.”

She smiled, giving a little laugh. “I think the most obnoxious question I was ever asked was the difference between the Chinese, Japanese and Koreans.”

“Oh my, how incredibly rude.”

“Ah, well, it’s all over now,” she set her chopsticks down on her mostly empty plate. He watched as she took a slow sip of the remaining droplets of her wine, using the napkin to wipe her lips before standing up. “Alright, who’s ready for dessert?”

“Me!” Greg raised his hand, eyes lighting up at the prospect of dessert. “I’d like some!”

“I want some,” Yin Wei offered quietly, though her dark eyes lit up as bright as Greg’s. “Please.”

“Wirt?”

Drat, she was speaking to him again! He quickly set the two sticks down, everyone’s eyes on him again. “Sure,” he nodded his head, heart slamming against his chest when Mr. Blackwood looked at him. “I mean, yes please.”

“I’ll be right back,” his mother danced off, black hair flowing behind her elegantly. He fidgeted in his seat, fingers twitching at his side as Dave and Mr. Blackwood struck into conversation. Why was he acting this way? How many times did he have to remind himself that it was _just_ Mr. Blackwood? It wasn’t like he was some weird beast that broke into their house and would turn them into trees or something like that.

 _“Did I seriously just think that?”_ he asked himself, making a face at how stupid that sounded. What kind of monster turned people into trees? He thought about maybe asking Greg or Yin Wei, but one look at them made him think twice. They were little kids; the only monsters they knew were the ones who hid under beds and closets. Well, Greg had never really believed that nonsense despite his overactive imagination and Yin Wei pretty much followed whatever example Greg set.

He never felt truly connected to anyone. Sure he had friends at school and in the neighborhood: Sara, Rhondi, Kathleen, hell even Jason Funderberker. Then sometime in later elementary school, Valentina moved to town and somehow Annie managed to become friends with him, though he admitted that latter scared him for the longest time. Even Grenda and Candy, who were often labeled as outcasts were in their small circle of friends. When Dipper and Mabel Pines moved to town after their parents died in a car crash, the group felt complete with the addition of the odd, yet inseparable duo.

Yet, he never felt as if they knew him. Like, _really_ knew him. Most times, no matter where he was, he felt like a boat on an endless black sea. Drifting farther away from where he wants to be, and more importantly, who he wants to be. Drifting without a real purpose in the world; unsure of what he wanted. He didn’t know what he wanted in his life. He could genuinely say he had never experienced real, pure, genuine happiness. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t ever had good times in his life, but those moments were always so swift and fleeting that it left a bitter taste of nostalgia in his mouth. He had long ago accepted that life was fleeting and uncaring to what he wanted.

He blinked back into focus, thankful that his teacher was no longer staring at him. His mother waltzed back into the room, a cake dish in her hands. He recognized the dessert, identifying it as Pandan cake. His mouth instantly watered, and he noticed that Greg and Yin Wei’s did as well. She left the room again, bringing with her several cups of tea and a cutting knife before returning with her teapot. He had to sigh at this, trying to silence the part of him that was insisting she hurry up and serve cake (his sweet tooth was an incurable monster, or so it seemed).

It lightened up the mood, at least for him. It was seven thirty already and they were already eating dessert. After that he could run upstairs for the rest of the evening and do homework while his mother, step-father, and Mr. Blackwood discussed business downstairs. Just a few more minutes and he could be free!

“Iago,” as she placed her fork into her slice of cake, his mother glanced from him to his English teacher in a look he knew well. She was plotting something and he felt a shiver run down his body. What was she up to? He didn’t like that look at all! “You still play and perform music, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Mr. Blackwood nodded, wiping his lips with his napkin. “I play when the school asks me and whoever wants me to play, really. I sing too, when asked.”

“I’m sure you have all sorts of advice to young musicians. Wirt here plays clarinet and Greg has been taking after school trumpet lessons. I’m even teaching my youngest the Erhu in my spare time.”

Oh, he knew what his mother was getting at. He eyed her, trying to get her attention. She couldn’t do this; this could not happen!  Mr. Blackwood blinked, keeping his face polite even though he probably knew to what she was alluding to. “Certainly,” he nodded, speaking slowly; carefully.

Her smile just seemed to be growing bigger. “You don’t happen to give lessons, do you?”

God dammit! He watched as Mr. Blackwood’s eyes grow wide with bewilderment, looking from him then back to his mother. “I…well, this is quite a question. I’m not sure that I’m qualified…”

“Nonsense!” his mother interrupted, waving her hand dismissively. “From what I’ve heard and seen, you’re more than qualified. I saw you play for the school’s Christmas concert and I’ve never seen such a more moving performance.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d really like for Wirt to learn the piano; a lot of famous musicians know how to play the piano. Would $50 every Monday and Thursday be fine?”

He almost cried in despair at the look on Mr. Blackwood’s face. Why would he actually consider this? Didn’t they realize how embarrassing this was for him? It was bad enough his mother and teacher were now “best friends,” but now he had to spend more time with the man? Why didn’t she ask him about this? Did any of them really care about his opinion? Apparently not.

“Wirt?” oh, now she decided to bring it up. Her dark eyes reflected his, though the expression on her face urged to him to say yes. “Would you like to learn the piano?”

Once again, everyone’s eyes were on him. He couldn’t say no; she’d ask him about it later and then it would most likely turn into a fight. They seemed to be getting into a lot of those these days for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure. If he said no, would it offend Mr. Blackwood? Would he despise him for the rest of the term and flunk him? He couldn’t have an F in the class! It would ruin his 3.8 GPA! He couldn’t risk that! He couldn’t risk his chance to fail high school and not get to see the rest of the world. He set down his fork, casting a fake smile that seemed to work. “Sure,” he said in a defeated voice masked by fake enthusiasm. “Why not?”

He was pretty sure Mr. Blackwood could see right through it. He wouldn’t even deny the pleasant shiver that coursed through his body when those pale eyes met his own dark ones.

_Today I’m gonna write a sad song,_

_Gonna make it really long,_

_So that everyone can see,_

_That I’m very unhappy_

Of course the guy had a nice house; really why was he surprised?

He stood outside, shivering as a cold wind blew against him. Just three more weeks till spring break, he kept reminding himself. The promises of spring were faint, but still there. However, the knowledge that spring was fast approaching did little to calm his nerves. He was standing outside Mr. Blackwood’s house. He was standing outside his English teacher’s house like a moron. How much worse could it get?

The house was nice, he had to admit that. Not that their house wasn’t nice, but it wasn’t nearly as well kept and clean as this one was. Not that it was their fault. Keeping a house full of five people clean was difficult. Mr. Blackwood lived all alone, or so they were told. “Okay,” he took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “It’s only for forty five minutes. You can do this.”

He forced his feet to move, walking up the short drive way to the white stoned porch that was lightly dusted with yesterday’s snow. He stopped at the door, finger resting lightly on the doorbell before pressing down on it. It rang ominously in his ears, like an organ playing dramatically from the sky. He waited a few more seconds before the door finally opened.

“Ah, Wirt. Right on time,” Mr. Blackwood smiled politely at him, extending the door open. “Do come in, please.”

“Um, okay?” he stepped inside, taking in the scents of pinewood from the incense burner on the end table near the door. He looked around the entry way, trying to conceal the look of awe on his face. Against the wall above the end table, was a shelf of artifacts from all over the world. From small Jade statues, to Russian nesting dolls that looked at least two centuries old. Further along the wall, African masks lined in a row stared at him, giving him the vague feeling of being watched.

“I went to Africa about three years ago,” Mr. Blackwood nodded, suddenly appearing next to him. “There from various tribes that I got the privilege to stay with.”

“Do you, uh, want me to take my shoes off or something?” God, he sounded like an idiot. Why did he have to freaking stutter all the time?

“You can keep them on; it’s fine. Follow me,” he followed the older man, stuffing his hands in his pockets and slouching forward. Of course the inside of his teacher’s house was nice; why was he so surprised? Mr. Blackwood was the epitome of a classic gentleman and in some sense, he reminded him of a wealthy Englishman from that book _Pride and Prejudice._

“You, um, have a nice home?” he offered weakly, following his teacher into the new room. “It looks expensive.”

…okay seriously, what was wrong with him?

To his surprise, the man didn’t seem offended by the comment. He didn’t give him a strange look, merely chuckled a little and nodded his head. “I think you’re the first person to be upfront with me on that, Wirt,” he tried to ignore the shiver that crawled down his spine. “I am not bragging when I say I come from a long line of blue bloods.”

Oh, so he was rich. Go figure, but he had to wonder why a rich person would want to be a teacher, much less be in a small town like theirs. Mr. Blackwood tilted his head slightly to the left, pale eyes drifting over to the piano. “You’re probably wondering why I’m a teacher; it probably seems a little odd. I could have been a doctor or in some business company, but there’s something about molding the minds of the next generation I seem to find to match my ambitious nature.”

“Oh, I wasn’t judging!”

“I didn’t say you were,” he replied coolly, hands coming together in a clap motion as he advanced forward. “Now I won’t keep you too long today; it’s only the first lesson after all. We’ll start off with some scales and I’ll go over the basics of the piano. I assume you have knowledge of scales already from your clarinet?”

“Y…yeah,” he thought of his clarinet; a gift his father had given him for his birthday a year before the divorce was finally settled. “My dad gave it to me right before the divorce.”

His cheeks burned even hotter as his teacher stared at him; light gray eyes unreadable. He felt like smashing his face into the piano for saying something that stupid. Why on earth would his teacher care about something so trivial? Like the guy cared about his issues. “Uh, sorry,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, staring down at his shoes. “You probably didn’t want to know that.”

Mr. Blackwood, however, didn’t appear awkward or uncomfortable at all. He walked around the room to pick up two piano books and tucked them carefully under his arm. “My parents divorced when I was young,” he told him, setting a cold hand on his shoulder, which seemed so small compared to his. “He is the one who introduced me to the piano.”

“Really?” he blinked, flushing slightly as the hand lightly squeezed his shoulder. “My dad and I had gone to a jazz concert where he pointed out the clarinet to me.”

“That’s nice,” his teacher smiled and headed over to the piano bench, sitting down and setting the music books on the little stand. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

_The wasted years have passed so slowly_

_Without connection to my only_

_The end is near, defining lonely_

_Is anybody there to show me_

_Show me_

“Let’s try the piece again, shall we?”

With clammy, shaky hands, he set them in his lap as Mr. Blackwood stood behind him patiently. “Beethoven is hard,” he muttered, staring at the ivory white keys. “This is impossible.”

“You can do anything you set your mind to,” Mr. Blackwood titled his head a little, staring at the music pages in front of him. “You’ve only been playing the piano for a month; you won’t master it right away.”

There was silence; no one speaking for a long time. He sighed and begun the song again, a little slower this time, but still as clumsy and choppy as before. After a few measures, Mr. Blackwood placed his hand on his shoulder to stop him. “That’s enough, Wirt,” he sighed, sitting down beside him. For a moment, there was an awkward silence, accompanied by his burning pink cheeks. Mr. Blackwood cleared his throat, pales hands delicately resting on the keys. “I don’t believe you’re really trying.”

“I am,” he defended himself crossly. “It’s just-“

“You don’t like the piano?”

“It’s not that; it’s a great instrument,” he sighed, staring down at his lap. He glanced over at his teacher, who stared back at him calmly. “Did your dad make you play the piano?”

Mr. Blackwood tensed for a moment, hands tightening slightly before relaxing once again. “No,” he answered slowly, almost quietly. “But he also didn’t really ask me if I wanted to either.”

“Oh.”

“Is that what this is about?” the blonde looked at him, scrutinizing him in fashion that made him feel exposed. “Your mother never asked if you wanted to play, did she? Never talked to you about it before; she just put you on the spot.”

“When you put it like that, yeah,” he nodded his head, feeling oddly embarrassed. His throat tightened and all he wanted to do was fade away. “But, I don’t mean to disrespect you or anything!”

“Oh believe me, I’m not offended. In fact, I’ve been in your very same position,” the man smiled at him, causing his heat to slam against his ribcage violently. “That being said, I enjoyed the piano more when I found a composer I especially liked. The same, I believe, could be the same for you.”

“Who do you like?”

“Wagner.”

He looked down at the piano, dark eyes mesmerized by the white and black keys. He hated feeling exposed; insecure in what he was feeling. “Do you ever feel like a boat? Floating upon an endless river to a destination you don’t know?”

He worried that it sounded stupid; no, he knew it sounded stupid. He wanted to take that question back; have his teacher ignore it, but of course the older man didn’t. “When I was younger I felt like that. I think we all feel insecure from time to time,” he sighed, giving a thin smile. “You don’t feel like you have a place in this world, do you?”

He blinked, the words echoing around in his head. It sounded accurate; a simpler way to phrase it. Sometimes he feared that his flowery language was too confusing for most people to understand. “I…I guess,” he looked away. “I’ve…never had anyone to truly understand how that feels.”

“Trust me, I do,” Mr. Blackwood said cryptically, nodding to himself. “I understand completely. However, you should not deny what you fee. Rather, you should submit to it.”

“Huh? What?”

“Start the piece again, please.”

_Flowers bloom in harmony_

_And mix tapes from the 60’s_

_Fueled by the LSD_

_He looks into his future_

Someone had told him once that it always rained in April. He stood underneath the entryway of the school, looking out towards the rain passively. All his friends had already left to for the day; a Friday to be exact. Pacifica and Mabel were going out on a double date tonight with Annie and Valentina to some restraint that had opened recently. He had no idea what the rest were doing, and if he were to be honest with himself, he didn’t really care.

He didn’t really care much about anything anymore.

His mother had picked up the younger ones from school fifteen minutes earlier, with him giving an excuse that he was stopping by the library to get some new books. She bought his lies so easily that sometimes it scared him. When did he get so good at lying? Oh wait…

How could he forget that he’d been doing it his whole life?

He shivered as a gust of wind blew by, wrapping his coat around him tighter. It was unusually cold for April, rain pouring continuously all day without any break. Dave had said something of a huge snowstorm coming in, but he had scoffed at it. It was April, spring already. It had never snowed in April in their town before, so why would it now? If it did, for a hypothetical situation, did snow, would it mean that he wouldn’t have to go to his piano lesson?

From the corner of his eye, he could see Bill Cipher and his cronies loitering around the other end of the entry way, nudging each other and laughing at anything that moved. It didn’t surprise him, but he was thankful that they were leaving him alone. Come to think of it, Bill and his friends hadn’t bothered him in a long while. Though he supposed stranger things had happened before…

With a sigh, he trudged down the steps of the school building with his hand stuffed in the pockets of his dark blue coat. The wind bit against his face, but it bothered him little. He wondered if Mr. Blackwood would mind if he was late, and when the image of his teacher came up, he blushed. The color striking his cheeks wasn’t out of place here in the cold, but it was always like this when he thought of the man.

The next hour blurred together more or less. He arrived at his teacher’s house and practiced his scales before his assigned music. He wasn’t any better at the darn instrument, despite what Mr. Blackwood said. Outside, the rain continued to beat down on the windows, but after a while, there was silence. The house was filled with the sounds of clunky piano keys.

“It’s snowing.”

He stopped playing, turning his head to the living room window where Mr. Blackwood was looking out of. “What?” he asked, heading up from the bench and joining the older man. “Oh my gosh, it really is!”

Damn it Dave!

It wasn’t just snowing; it was a full on blizzard! The flakes were huge, sticking to everything in sight and blanketing the world in white. He couldn’t even see out the window very well; unable to see the road and the other houses. He should have listened to Dave; shouldn’t have brushed him off when the man had said something about a huge snow storm coming in. He stood at the window, pressing his hands against the cold glass as the phone in the other room began to ring. Mr. Blackwood moved away to go an answer it, leaving him to go stare out the window dismally.

“Wirt,” his teacher poked his head back in the room. “It’s your mother.”

“Okay,” he strode clumsily towards the man, taking the phone from him. “Hello?”

_“Wirt! It’s really snowing outside! The power is out at home right now.”_

“What?”

_“It’s alright; we’re fine. They’ve blocked off the main road to get home. Would you mind staying the night at Mr. Blackwood’s?”_

“But Mom-“

_“I wouldn’t feel safe or comfortable if you two were out on the road trying to get to the house. There have been several accidents already. I would feel a lot better if you were to stay put for the night. I can come get you in the morning.”_

He glanced back at his teacher, who was now setting the music books aside and closing the piano lid. “Alright,” he sighed, feeling nauseas at the very thought of having to spend the night at the man’s home. Not that he didn’t like the guy; actually he didn’t know how to feel about him. “I’ll stay put for now. I love you, Mom.”

_“I love you too, Wirt. Please be safe.”_

“I will. Bye.”

He set the phone down and jumped at the sound of a voice clearing. Mr. Blackwood leaned against the archway of the small sitting room, gazing calmly at him. “I told her I was okay with it; I have several guest rooms upstairs. Don’t worry; I’m sure it will be done snowing by the morning.”

“Oh, uh, okay. Thanks, I guess.”

Mr. Blackwood just smiled. “It’s no problem, Wirt.”

His hand was on his shoulder again.

_There’s something in the look you give_

_I can’t help myself I fall_

_I can’t help myself at all_

_There’s something in your touch when we kiss,_

_I say God forgive me please but I want you on your knees_

He lay in bed for what seemed hours, listening to the wind howling outside. He didn’t know how long he’d been trying to fall asleep. The only thing he knew was that it was impossible right now. He couldn’t stop thinking about his family. Were they alright? He could picture them right now, surrounded by a fire and drinking hot tea. He could see Greg making shadow puppets and amusing their younger sister, their parents laughing at his antics.

And for a moment, he could imagine them forgetting he even existed.

Come to think of it, there were times he forgot that even he himself existed. Pottsfield was such a small town with barely any room to breathe. He didn’t make friends easily; it took him years to make the friends he already had. And even then, he felt as if they didn’t truly know him. He didn’t share with them his deepest, most personal feelings. He’d never shared them with anyway.

Yet, when he was with Mr. Blackwood, he felt as if he could. When he was around him, things just seemed to slip out. Things he didn’t mean to share, but fell out so naturally as if he was meant to let his insecurities out. He recalled the conversation he had with Mr. Blackwood earlier, something about submitting to his feelings.

Question was though, what was he feeling?

He rolled out of bed, feet tapping quietly against the smooth wooden floor. He didn’t know if Mr. Blackwood was down stairs, but he treaded down the hall anyway. The house was quiet, excluding the sounds of the wind howling outside. It was still snowing, though it had died down considerably. Right now, it was past midnight, with school cancelled for tomorrow and he stuck in his teacher’s house.

He stopped by his teacher’s room, a rustling noise stopping his stride. He knew it was wrong to eavesdrop on his teacher like this. Especially in his own home, but he couldn’t help it. Normally he was never this curious; leaving those sorts of things to Greg, but this was different. He could hear the quiet panting, the quiet moans and the wet sounds of skin against skin. His cheeks burned crimson and every fiber of his being screamed at him about how inappropriate this was. He had no right to intrude on his teacher like this.

He couldn’t move though, glued to the wall with burning cheeks. His body felt hot all over and the under shirt he was wearing seemed to be sticking to his body. His heart fluttered like the wings of a hummingbird as he continued to listen to his teacher. He felt aroused, and the sounds of his teacher getting off were not helping matters at all.

“Wirt…”

He slapped a hand to his mouth, eyes widening as he tried to stifle the gasp that exited his mouth. The movement from the other room ceased. He couldn’t move; his feet seemed to be stuck to the floor. Footsteps from the room sounded and the door opened. Mr. Blackwood, in a black bathrobe, stood in the center of his doorway and stared at him. He stared back, feeling like a deer in the headlights.

“Mr. Blackwood,” he wet his lips, looking around awkwardly for an escape route. “I, uh, I…”

“You heard, didn’t you?”

His eyes darted from wall to wall, anything to not meet his teacher’s eyes. Mr. Blackwood wasn’t looking at him, though. He looked at the wall just beyond him, pale eyes distant and cold. He bit back the shame, nodding his head as he looked down to the ground. “Yes.”

He expected his teacher to be furious; to yell at him or something of that sort. A part of him even expected the man to hit him, but all the man did was giving a small laugh. “I thought you were asleep,” Mr. Blackwood shook his head, a rueful smile growing on his features. “I should have known better. I suppose I’ll have to call my lawyer and have things arranged.”

“What?”

The man just sighed. “You know what you heard. It wasn’t a mistake. I was thinking of you,” he couldn’t look his teacher in the eye as the older man spoke. “I have felt this way about you for a long time. Since the moment you arrived in my class. I am deeply sorry to have caused you this embarrassment.”

“No!”

It slipped out before he could stop it and the logical part of him kept trying to reason with him. Mr. Blackwood looked at him with those pale, almost colorless eyes. He didn’t feel embarrassed by this, much to his surprise. For some reason, he felt flattered. What was wrong with him? Why was he feeling this way? Nothing made sense anymore. He liked Mr. Blackwood; he always had but what was this feeling? This attraction that he couldn’t explain.

“I…” he wet his lips again and stepped closer to the man, swallowing down the knot growing in his throat in an almost suffocating way. “I don’t feel embarrassed.”

“You are mistaken; I’m sure you do,” Mr. Blackwood shook his head. “You’re just in shock right now, that’s what it is.”

“No, I’m not! Don’t tell me what I’m feeling!”

He blinked in surprise, as did Mr. Blackwood. He normally didn’t snap at people; minus Greg when he was being truly irritating and his step-father when he tried to act like he was his father. He didn’t understand this feeling; this feeling of having little control over his thoughts and emotions. However, he didn’t fear it as much as he should have. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, stepping closer. “I don’t care that you were…thinking of me. Really, I don’t care. I just have to ask, why me?”

“You really don’t know how special you are,” Mr. Blackwood ran a hand through his hair, pale eyes looking tired. “You do, to a point, remind me of myself when I was younger. But there is more to you than meets the eye. Though you do not realize it, there is more to you that you have not acknowledged yet.”

It made little sense, but he figured nothing ever truly made sense. He stepped even closer to the man, now suddenly wondering what it would be like to actually have his hand against his. His right hand reached out, taking the cold yet smooth hand of his teacher’s. Long pale fingers entwined with his own, the cold contrasting with his own warm hand. “Wirt,” Mr. Blackwood didn’t stop him, but there was a warning in his tone.

He didn’t reply. He just leaned up to press his lips to Mr. Blackwood’s.

And the older man didn’t pull away.

_Sacred geometry_

_Where movement is poetry_

_Visions of you and me forever_

 


	2. A further decline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wirt and Dante explore their new "relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there has been a hiatus on this! I didn't feel in the mood to working on this and now that The Law of Gravity is finished, I decided to update the second chapter of this. This series is just a mini series of different universes and whatnot. Not all of them will have happy endings.

They didn’t tell anyone about their relationship.

He scowled, scolding himself for how stupid that sounded. Of course they wouldn’t tell anyone! What they were committing was technically a felony even though he was close to being eighteen and graduating in a year. To a judge though, and the rest of the jury, they would not care about those facts and would still charge Mr. Blackwood with statutory rape and who knows how long they would put him away. He would lose his career, his livelihood, and not to mention his reputation would be ruined. He knew he was hurting his family by doing this, destroying a newly found friendship between their families. If anyone of his family members found out, that would be it. Their family would be destroyed, broken beyond repair.

Still, that didn’t stop of him from seeing his teacher. It didn’t stop the feelings that arose when he touched him. Every kiss, every caress, every soft gentle touch sent shivers down his spine and furthered his descent into the unknown. He gingerly traced his lips, recalling their first kiss during that snowstorm a month ago. He followed his teacher into his darkened and barely lit room, finding himself pushed gently on the bed with the taller man crawling over his body.

All they did was kiss for what seemed hours, even though he wanted to go all the way. Of course Mr. Blackwood wanted to take it slow, delaying sex for that first night and said they would do it when he deemed he was ready.

He closed his eyes, imagining the feel of Mr. Blackwood, no, Dante’s lips. They were so far past last name basis. The very name felt like sin when he spoke it and that only fueled his desire. He wanted Dante; wanted him more than anything in his life. He was a like a drug. A very addicting drug that he felt he would go crazy without.

The May moon shone down on him, lighting up a small patch of light on his floor. He could see his hand clearly in the light and paused briefly as he held it up into the air. The moon was almost full tonight, a waxing gibbous that was bright and unyielding. Mysterious, full of secrets that waited to be revealed. The only witness to the secret that lay between him and Dante.

The paleness of the moon reminded him of the little geisha statue that stood in his parents’ antique shop. Dressed in a petty red kimono with a bright pink obi, her stark white face had remained through the years, not a single chipped piece of paint on her face. Her face had always puzzled him. He could never tell if she was happy or looking sadly down at something that he could not see. He had asked his mother before, but she had always shrugged and said it was up to the beholder to decide.

In a way, her mysterious face reminded him of Dante’s. He was so mysterious, even with the bits and pieces of the background he already knew, the rest was an enigma he could not figure out. “The rest is shadows,” he found himself murmuring into the darkness. “The rest is secret.”

Just the thought of the older man made a blush creep into his face. He remembered just lying with Dante on his bed, curled up against his chest and letting those long fingers caress his gently. He remembered the kisses they would share after his piano lesson, how much needier and aggressive they would get as they kept going. He had convinced his mother to let him have another hour of piano practice at Dante’s house and when Dante said he wouldn’t charge for it, she agreed without even questioning why. The last thing he needed was for her to figure out what was going on. He didn’t want her to find out; or anyone for that matter. He just wanted his teacher, wanted all of him and didn’t want to share him with anyone else.

His fingers danced down his chest, slipping through his ratty old sweat pants he wore as pajamas. The cool fingertips touched the base of his penis and he closed his eyes once more, imagining a different pair of hands on him. He touched himself in a slow rhythm, imagining the eyes of the older man. He would be slow, experimenting on which ways got him harder and got him off faster and how to milk his desire for an even longer time. He could see Dante’s face, his lips parted and his eyes holding a curious yet lustful glimmer. He could only assume that he was a beast in bed, and felt a small pang of jealousy for the people who had experienced him before.

He bit his lower lip, his dick twitching in his hand as it started to get harder. It rose slowly up in his pants, creating a little tent that he slipped out before things got uncomfortable. He didn’t care that it was one in the morning or that he had school in a few hours. He just couldn’t get the image of his lover out of his head!

“Dante,” he moaned quietly, hoping uselessly that the older man could somehow hear him through the distance between their houses. “Dante, I need you so bad…”

He thumbed the head of his penis, beady white squirts of precum glistening in the dark. He began stroking himself faster, harder, his breathing growing labored. He tried to keep the sound of his moans under control. He didn’t want Greg, or worse, Yin Wei to come into his room and ask what was wrong. The last thing he needed was to traumatize his siblings and make his parents cross with him.

He came with a gasp that seemed to echo throughout the room. Cum shot out, dribbling down his legs as his heart rate began to slow down and a blissful euphoria resonated throughout his body. The desire was not yet quenched; only one person would be able to fix that.

But for now, he felt tired and his eyes flickered before closing finally.

_To sad humanity alone,_

_(Creation's triumph ultimate)_

_The grimness of the grave is known,_

_The dusty destiny await . . . ._

_Oh bird and beast, with joy, enlace_

_Effulgently your ignorance!_

“I see you’ve found a new plaything.”

Enoch Wentworth, mayor of the little town of Pottsfield, looked at his old friend through the brim of his glass of brandy. Dante Blackwood was the picture of ease despite the earlier accusation he had just thrown at him. Any normal person would have either started sputtering statements denying it or would have laughed awkwardly as if thinking he were making a weird sort of jest.

Of course, Dante was anything but normal.

“I am not sure how you found that out,” Dante replied, cool and calm as ever, not even batting an eyelash at the obvious barb thrown in his direction. “But I’m sure you’ve met him before.”

“There are a lot of people in this town, Dante, and I see a lot of people every day…”

“His name is Walter; Wirt for short. His parents own the antique shop in town,” Dante sighed, slightly sloshing the contents of his drink. “He’s one of my students. Tall, dark hair, Asian features…”

“Oh, Xiāng Líng’s boy. I think I have met him before,” he leaned back in his leather office chair, glass now sitting on its coaster and his hands folded neatly across his chest. It had been a quiet day; not too many people coming in. He had to reward himself for a job well done; the peace of Pottsfield kept him happy as well as his town. It’s what attracted tourists and homeowners alike. Their town was perfect. With a very low crime rate and well-kept environment, it was the best place for new families to come in.

As long as they never questioned _how_ the town was so nice, than they would never have a problem. “How is he? I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to visit their shop,” he kept the conversation going, his friend keeping his face passive the whole time. “Have you slept with him yet?”

If Dante were any normal person, his face would have colored but the man only smirked at him. “No, though I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“Well, considering he’s in high school and your well into your thirties, you can imagine how surprising it would be to everyone if they were to find out,” Dante was a good friend of his; a very good friend that he would hate to lose if anything were to come up. He honestly didn’t care that he was seeing this boy; he would be a senior this coming year, so he didn’t think it was such a huge ordeal. However, if something were to happen and the authorities were contacted it would tarnish the reputation of his beloved town and his friend. Not to mention Dante wasn’t as innocent and gentlemanly as he liked everyone to assume. While his friend narrowed his eyes at him, he held up his hands in a show of peace. “Now, now, I’m not turning you in. I’m just giving you a…small piece of warning.”

Dante still glared at him, pale eyes looking like sharp glass in the fading sunlight through the window. “And what would that be, Enoch?” he asked, low voice calm and collected, but he knew better than to assume there was no underlying threat in his tone.

“Just be careful in this new…relationship of yours if you can even call it that,” he had to add that in, just one little jab that he could not resist. “Marcus Woodsman won’t stop until you’re behind bars.”

“And if you’re not careful, he could expose you as well,” Dante never let little things bother him; always a step ahead everyone else. “But I assume if worse comes to worse you have a plan.”

He just grinned mischievously, leaning forward to pick up his glass and held it up in a mock toast. “Don’t I always?” he chuckled along with his friend, finishing the drink with one quick swig. “But the same could be said for you. You’re not called The Beast for nothing.”

_A sign,_

_In your eyes,_

_A familiar light,_

_Says it’s alright_

“Dante?”

He lifted his head from the essays he was reading, black framed reading glances sitting on the brim of his nose. Standing in the open doorway was the object of his affections, shuffling his feet awkwardly against the tiled floor of the hallway. He looked flushed as if he had just finished gym class and why he was standing in the doorway of his classroom was a mystery. The only time they spent together was during the boy’s piano lessons. The only assumption he could make on the boy’s surprise visit was because of something important, something perhaps pertaining to their relationship.

Enoch was right. He wasn’t entirely sure if they could even call this a relationship. He removed the glasses from his face, setting them down on the desk. “Yes, Lover boy?” he smirked at the boy’s blush from the little pet name he’d given him. “Can I help you?”

Wirt only shuffled on in, turning slightly to close the door behind him and locked it. He headed closer towards the desk, fingertips lightly touching the edge of the wood. The sun caught his eyes, making them appear like rainclouds full of anticipation and worry. He had on a white polo shirt with the top two buttons unhooked to reveal a smooth light tanned chest. He subconsciously felt a stir of desire run through him but kept his composure. Wirt cleared his throat, stumbling over his own words as he began to speak. “I…uh,…there’s something…I want to ask.”

“Go on,” he leaned forward pensively, wondering in amusement on what the boy could be thinking. “You can ask me anything, Young lover.”

“I want to have sex.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t expecting this. He briefly paused; not taking his eyes off the teenager’s reddening face. To be honest, it wasn’t like this was a surprise. Teenagers were hasty, always quick in trying to get what they wanted. He fully intended to sleep with the teen, but he was not the impatient type. He was going to make his move soon; two months was long enough for him and before he had to make sure the teen was serious.

Still, he decided to humor the boy. “It’s illegal,” he stated, smirk growing as the teen’s somewhat determined look falters.

He hadn’t expected Wirt to retort to that; his self-esteem could be painfully low at times. Now, he stood before him in an attempt to be assertive. “Then the law is wrong.”

“It’s a sin.”

“Then God is wrong!”

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“The freaking universe doesn’t make sense!”

“Relax, Young Lover,” he stood up to place a hand on the boy’s shoulder. The boy leans into the touch, scooting a bit closer to him. He let’s go of him, heading over to the door to look outside. No one was in the hallway; school had ended an hour ago and most of the students had left for summer vacation. Before Wirt had arrived in his classroom, he had been finishing up some final grades for his last class. Of course Wirt passed with flying colors, something he would admit he took pride in. The boy was so smart, much smarter than he let people see.

It was a pity, really.

He closes the door, turning out the light to give the impression that there was no one in the room. He didn’t need anyone walking in on them and start asking questions. He truly did not need things to get messy. He returns to his seat, swiveling the chair around to face the teenager in front of him. He smirks, motioning for the boy to come over. Wirt’s face turns a brilliant shade of red, but comes over anyways and takes a seat in his lap. “Tell me, Young Lover,” he speaks quietly as to not attract attention from anyone who might still be around in the building. His hand runs up and down Wirt’s back in a soothing manner, fingers dancing up and down the boy’s skin. “What’s been going on in that little head of yours?”

Wirt just blushes and doesn’t look him in the eye when he speaks. It’s rather cute, actually. “I feel like I’ve spent my life jinxing my own happiness,” the boy murmurs, his gaze meeting his briefly. “I mean, well, I don’t know, I just want to know what it’s like.”

“You’ll have to be a little more specific than that,” his lips are trailing up to the boy’s ear and he feels a pang of desire hit again when the boy squirms in his lap. “What do you want?”

“You,” the boy squeaks a little when his breath hits his ear. He lets out a soft moan that goes straight to his groin. Oh, this boy had no idea what he was doing to him. Wirt’s blush deepens, biting his lip gently. “I…I’ve always been so careful, so cautious my entire life. I must seem like a boring person but when I’m with you,” the boy’s eyes light up with an adoring manner, holding him in an idealistic gaze. “It’s so dangerous; so legally immoral even though I’m almost an adult. If anyone found out, we’d be in trouble. I like it; I like having this secret that no one knows about and still, everyone assumes I’m just so weird and well, a loser. But with you, I don’t feel that.”

For a brief moment, he thought of taking the boy right then and there. Bending him over his desk and just fucking him until his senses were depleted. However, he considered himself to be…oh, what is it the young people said? Stay classy, not trashy, was it? Well, whatever it was, he was not going to have their first time being in a school building. Perhaps another time.

Instead, he lightly kissed the boys neck, with earned a surprised yelp from the boy. He placed a finger over his lips, a silent warning to keep his voice down. He kissed the spot, taking pleasure in the soft cries the boy was giving off. The light kisses soon deepened, tongue and teeth coming into play. He bit the soft skin of the boy and smirked as his breath hitched. He pulled back to look at his work, taking pride in the hickey that had formed. He knew Wirt was a clever boy, resourceful enough to hide it until it healed. A pity he couldn’t flaunt it around town.

Wirt just looked flustered, cheeks pink and flushed looking. His breathing had intensified, bedroom eyes looking at him with awe and lust.

He supposed they had waited long enough.

There was no one at the school, at least, no one that would suspect anything. The parking lot only held four other cars and there were no students lingering around anymore. No one lived in the houses next to his and the other neighbors did well to mind their own business. The drive was quiet, with Wirt’s face still hot pink and his own desire deepening. At first, if he were to be truthful for once, he was just going to tease the boy a little; thinking this would just be a fling that would not escalate any further due to the boy’s low self-esteem and meek position.

He was a beautiful boy though, he wasn’t lying about that. He also couldn’t lie and deny that when he first saw him, he wanted him to himself. He reminded him of his younger years, though he was not as socially awkward. But they were lonely at times with no one understanding him and his likes and dislikes. The boy was the same as him and in that sense; he could feel a mutual resemblance. He just hadn’t expected it to turn to desire.

He also didn’t expect Wirt to be the one to initiate this but the little display of boldness that was so unlike him made him like the boy even more. Yet, there was more to this boy than most people assumed and in a sense, he finalized that this was why he liked him so much.

He pulled into his driveway, opening the front door to allow Wirt in first. He led him upstairs into his bedroom, the boy standing in the middle of it looking awkward, unsure of what to do. It was adorable, really, how much of a virgin he was. Though, he began to think darkly, not for much longer.

He stepped over to the boy, taking his hand and sitting them both on the bed. He cupped the boy’s face, bringing their lips together in a gentle kiss. The teenager was getting better at kissing, a lot less sloppy and more coordinated, not trying to deep throat him all the time. His tongue swept over the boy’s soft lips, asking for entrance that the boy quickly complied with. It was easy to convince this boy to do anything.

An outsider would find it completely unsettling how far deep the boy was under his thumb.

_He had warned him against false hope,_

_And he promised himself he would guard against it,_

_But he still heard hope,_

_And he craved it even though he knew he should not_

They kissed for what seemed like forever.

It had started out gentle, with the two of them sitting next to each other and sharing sweet kisses. Now he found himself straddling the man’s lap, sucking his face off like there was no tomorrow. Of course Dante had complete control of the situation; he always was in control. But, that’s what he liked about him. He never had to worry when he was with Dante; never had to feel fear. He was a glint of sunshine in the darkness; the flame to a lantern that promised warmth, protection, and hope. And like a moth to a flame, he was drawn towards the older man.

His arms wrapped around the man’s neck, legs wrapped around his waist as their kisses deepened. The man’s hands caressed his back, reaching downwards to grab his hips firmly. He brought them forward, allowing their bodies to collide in sweet friction. The lips moved down to his neck, kissing and biting down until his breathing intensified. “D…Dante…” he gasped as the man’s hands moved, unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt before removing it all together. “Dante…”

“So sweet, Young Lover,” Dante licked his neck once, hands moving past his shoulders to tweak his peach colored nipples. “So sweet, just like molasses.”

“Dante…”

He was laid down on the bed, shirt tossed aside like it was nothing. Dante leaned back, pale eyes dilated with lust and he slowly unbuttoned his shirt. He swallowed hard, feeling his cock stir in his pants at the sight of the older man. He removed his shirt, tossing it to the floor in a manner that still managed to be graceful. His chest was as pale as the rest of his body, hairless and smooth like marble. He was lean, with taut muscles that he desperately wanted to reach out and touch. Dante just smirked at him. “Like what you see, Lover boy?”

He nodded wordlessly, gulping at the sight of his teacher. No, his _lover_. Dante leaned over him, body pressing up against his as his lips trailed down his body. He gasped in pleasure as a wet tongue massaged his right nipple, mouth at the small bud suckling and nipping until he was practically mewling in pleasure. “Dante,” he gasped, hands curling into the man’s dark sandy blonde hair. “It feels so good.”

The man didn’t say anything to that but he hummed, moving away from his nipple to travel down his stomach. Fingers undid his pants, sliding them past his narrow hips and the man threw them behind him once he got them off his long legs. He flushed; feeling exposed seeing as he was in nothing but his underwear at this point. “No need to be so modest,” Dante kissed him briefly, voice husky and full of lust. “You’re beautiful.”

He removed his underwear with quick, nimble fingers and he couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped as cool air hit his exposed penis. He arched into the hands that slowly caressed down his back to grip the back of his thighs. It felt weird yet oddly pleasant. He’d dreamed of this moment; had wanted it for so long and now it was finally happening. He felt the thrill rush through his body at the thought of what was to come and how exposed he was to the older man, who was still in his black slacks.

He almost whined when the man let go of him, standing up to undo the belt around his waist. He shivered in anticipation, watching with heavy lidded eyes as Dante threw the belt to the floor and undid the buttons of his pants. The rest of his clothes were discarded to the floor and he sat on the edge of his bed, motioning for him to come towards him. “On the floor,” he demanded in a soft tone, spreading his legs a little to emphasize where he wanted him to go. “Right here.”

He, of course, complied and scooted off the bed to kneel in between the man’s very pale legs. He paused, flushing in embarrassment. He’d never given a blowjob before; had never even imagined ever giving one to the older man. He was bound to be crappy at it. What if Dante didn’t like it? “You’ll be fine,” Dante ran his long fingers through his hair, a small gesture of reassurance. “How else are you going to learn? Practice makes perfect, doesn’t it?”

So he leaned forward, taking in the very tip. It tasted weird and he flushed even harder when Dante urged him to keep going; to see how far he could take the man’s dick into his mouth. It was hot in his mouth, wet and salty with precum. He knew that most guys didn’t like teeth being added so he would try to avoid that at all possible, but he was pretty sure it was obvious to Dante that he was inexperienced in these sorts of things.

So he listened to the older man, seeing how he hummed at some things, like when he licked at the base and over the tip and if he did something wrong, the man would just shake his head a little. He felt his own dick ache and he wanted to alleviate that, or have Dante fix that little problem. Yet, when he wanted to let go and ask, he felt something wet and bitter shoot into his mouth. He coughed, letting go of the man’s dick as cum shot out. Some of it in his mouth and bits of it landing on his face. He flushed bright red. “I’m sorry! I didn’t-“

“No need to apologize,” Dante brought him up, hands cupping his face as he kissed him deeply, tongue dancing with his in an obscene manner that sent more pleasure running through his body. When they finally parted, only a string of saliva still connected between their lips. “You’ll get better.”

He found himself being pushed back on the bed, hands spreading out his legs so the older man could slide between them. “I’m going to prep you, so it’s going to feel painful,” Dante spoke, reaching across him to grab the lube in the drawer and grabbed something else in a small package. Oh, wait, that was a condom.

He jumped at the squirting sound from the bottle, Dante giving a little chuckle at this sound of surprise. He coated two fingers, yet only one reached down and probed slightly at his hole. He flushed, closing his eyes. It was such an…odd sensation. He had experimented with himself sure, but never had he even imagined something going inside him. It burned a slow sort of burn that made him hiss in pain. “Hurts…” he groaned out, clutching onto Dante’s broad shoulders. The man just kissed his neck, tongue wetting the love bit he’d made not too long ago.

“It’ll feel better soon,” the older man rasped, adding another finger and started scissoring. He mewled, face tinting with embarrassment at the sound he made. Those fingers, long and slim brushed up against something that made the pain seem almost irrelevant. It was still there, but there was pleasure overriding it, filling his senses. Every part of his body seemed to tingle pleasantly, his toes curling up and cock glistening with precum as the man kept touching that spot.

“How does that feel,” Dante sounded smug, pulling his face away from his neck momentarily to give him a cocky smirk. “Better?”

“Y…Yeah.”

“I could get you off just by doing that,” the older man chuckled and curled his fingers once more against his prostate. He gasped in pleasure once more and the older man’s smirk just grew wider. “I wouldn’t even mind either. You’re so pretty, my prince. Seeing you undone by my hands, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“Dante,” he panted, wishing that the fingers would be removed so something else could be inside him. More specifically, he wanted Dante inside him. “Please…please…”

“Please what? You’ll have to be a bit more specific, Young Lover.”

“Remove your fingers and…” he trailed off, face now even redder. “Fuck me. Please Dante, please, please fuck me already.”

Dante just chuckled, those damn fingers continuing the move around inside him. “Such words coming from a virgin,” he kissed him once more, sweeping past his parted lips and tongue covering every part of his mouth. He kissed back, hand reaching behind Dante’s neck to pull him in closer. The man smiled into the kiss, teeth scrapping against his own. “But you asked so nicely, that I don’t think I can hold myself back anymore.”

He whined softly as the fingers disappeared. He felt so empty now, and he craved to have something fill him once more. He watched with lidded eyes as Dante unwrapped the condom, sliding it on his thick large cock. He gulped in fear just looking at it. Fingers were one thing but the man’s large cock was another. Just looking at it, anticipating how on earth it was going to fit inside him was enough to make him worried.

As if sensing his anxiousness, Dante finished lubricating his cock and crawled towards him, taking his legs and wrapping them around his hips. “I’ll go slowly, Young Lover,” he promised, honeyed words on his lips as he felt the tip press against his entrance. “You’ll like it, I know you will.”

He gasped, a pained sound escaping his lips. He grit his teeth as the man kept pushing in, tightening his grip on the man. It felt like he was being torn in half each time Dante kept pushing his way inside. He’d pause, allowing him time to adjust but the pain was still there. A burning pain that had tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “Shh,” Dante wiped those tears away with pale fingers, pushing deeper inside. “It’ll all feel better soon.”

With that, he felt one hand wrap around his cock, stroking it gently. He arched into the touch, a wave of pleasure mixing in with the pain. He was so absorbed with ministrations that he hadn’t realized Dante was fully sheathed inside him. He had paused, allowing Wirt to take him in for a few seconds before pulling out and pushing back inside to set a steady rhythm.

With each thrust, the pain was beginning to recede. The hand on his cock stroked each time with the man’s pistoning that he almost didn’t remember the pain. He moaned, burrowing his face in the juncture of the man’s neck. He could feel Dante’s breath on him as he pushed in and out, brushing against his prostate.

“Faster,” he breathed, hips rocking back into the thrusts. “Please Dante, go faster!”

“Such a demanding one you are,” Dante had the nerve to chuckle, yet he felt the pace pick up. “So tight…you feel wonderful around me, Young Lover.”

The thrusts became harder, faster and more precise. Each one hit his prostate with such intense accuracy that he swore he could see stars. The pleasure was overwhelming, pouring through his body like an intense vibration that kept growing stronger by the second. “Dante,” he called out, much louder than he thought he could sound. “Dante, I’m gonna cum.”

The man didn’t say anything; he just continued to press forward inside him. Their bodies were glistening with sweat, hot and sticky as their bodies slid against each other. If any of his friends saw him now, he didn’t know what they’d think. Seeing him like this, under Dante Blackwood of all people…

The thought only made him harder. “Harder!” he mewled to the man. “Please….”

The hand around his cock had tightened ever so slightly, running up and down in the time to his thrusts. He could barely register the world around him, moaning and calling out Dante’s name as if it were the name of God. Dante’s pupils were blown, locking into his own dark eyes, taking in the image. The lips pressed against his and he moaned into the kiss.

He released, white cum spilling onto his body and the bed sheets, staining both their stomachs. The hands on his hips were bound to leave fingertip sized bruises but he didn’t care. All he cared about was the pleasure from his orgasm, the feel of Dante inside him. This was…absolutely perfect! He didn’t even care if maybe he’d come to fast or if the man cared about his lack of experience. He had thought about his first time before, thinking it would be poor and embarrassing but this had exceeded all previous expectations.

He felt Dante still in his movements just for a moment, a clear sign of his own orgasm taking bold and semen releasing into the condom. They lay there on the bed, breathing heavily as movement stilled between them. The high was absolute bliss, and he threaded his hands through Dante’s soft dark sandy blonde hair.

If this was heaven, he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to leave.

_Past the point of no return,_

_No going back now,_

_Our passion play has now at last begun_

_Past all thought of right or wrong,_

_One final question,_

_How long are we to wait before we’re one?_

_When will the blood begin to race?_

_The sleeping bud burst into bloom?_

_When will the flames at last consume us?_

The scene played around in his head, over and over again. Even at the most inappropriate times.

He found it completely exhilarating, having a secret that no one else knew about. That he of all people had the privilege to hold such a dangerous piece of information. A secret that if he knew got out, it would spread like wildfire throughout their small, yet economically booming, town. If he got Dante in trouble, the man’s reputation and career would be ruined. He could care less about his own reputation and future; Dante was so much more important and prominent than him.

The fact that everyone was more important than him had been made very clear, ever since he was a child. “You’re not important, in the grand scheme of things,” his father had told him once, the last time he saw him. “You are inconsequential. You don’t matter.”

Those words he took to heart, even to this day.

“Hey!” a pair of fingers snapped in his face and he jumped, flushing red as the rest of his friends giggled. Mabel leaned back in her seat, fingers hand withdrawing from in front of his face. “Wirt, don’t be such a space case. Weren’t you listening to anything I’d been saying?”

He didn’t even notice Sara glare at the girl momentarily and he shrugged, shaking off the embarrassment. At least, pretending to anyway. Inside, he wanted to crawl under the table. “No?” he offered weakly, giving a sheepish smile as the brunette girl huffed. “What was it?”

“Dipper’s dating Bill!”

“Mabel!” her twin flushed a violent shade of red, glaring at her with a look that almost begged her to keep quiet. “Mabel, don’t be so loud!”

“What? It’s true,” the girl only stated flippantly. “Who would have thought, our very own Dipper Pines dating the infamous bad boy of Pottsfield high.”

Oh, if only they knew. If only they knew…

He was truly nothing without this man. Just an insignificant waste of space who didn’t matter to anyone. Not even to his own father. A clumsy nerd who liked poetry and the clarinet. A simple minded fool with no sense of identity or purpose. He wasn’t chill like Sara, or confident like Dipper. He didn’t have Valentina’s wit or Annie’s aloofness. And he most certainly didn’t have Mabel’s energetic and vibrant personality.

He wanted to be noticed; to be considered special. And with Dante, he satisfied all those urges. He was hurting so many people by doing this; he knew that very well. Yet, he didn’t care. If Dante didn’t care that others would get hurt, then he wouldn’t either. Why did they matter so much? It wasn’t like they loved Dante the way he did. What would they know?

It was later that day, after a round of sex after his piano lesson, that he revealed to Dante the news his mother had given him. He was sitting in the man’s lap; on the bed facing him as the man lazily kissed his collar bone. “Dante,” he let out a breathy moan, clutching onto his lover as if there was no tomorrow. “Dante, I have to tell you something…”

“What is it?” the man asked, kissing softly up his jawline to the corner of his mouth. “Young Lover?”

“I’m leaving next week,” he let out a soft whine when the lips returned to his collarbone, a soft nip as teeth bit into the exposed flesh. “My family…we’re spending the rest of the summer in China…”

Dante didn’t say anything for the longest time, allowing his hands to roam slowly and sensually up his body. They slid past his ribs, over his nipples and then back down in an almost comforting manner. “I see,” Dante spoke lowly, pausing in his ministrations momentarily. “And I take it you don’t want to go?”

“I do,” he nodded his head, as if to affirm his own desires. “I just wish it didn’t have to be for the rest of the summer. I don’t want to leave you.”

“Then we’ll just have to make up for lost time,” the man grinned, reaching up to lower his head so their lips could meet. For the longest time they just kissed, tongues meeting partway to meet and dance together. He wrapped his arms around the man, pulling their sweaty bodies even closer together and gasped when he felt a hand wrap around his cock. Dante just smirked. “Shall we begin now?”

With hands on his hips guiding him, he sunk down on the now hardened cock.

_Candy is dandy,_

_But liquor is quicker,_

_Every drop you’re given me,_

_Is making’ me sicker_

He hated every single minute he had to be away from Dante.

The hotel they were staying at was beautiful, and the places they visited were beautiful too, but he was absolutely miserable. He had been to China before, though it was a long time ago, and he had seen all these things before. Greg was too young to remember and Yin Wei was just a baby at the time but he remembered.

And if he were to be completely honest, he was bored.

Oh, he had lots of time to himself, when he wasn’t being forced to look after the little ones while his parents got “alone time”. He almost smirked ironically at that. They both thought he was still a virgin; that the idea of them having sex should have put them off. If only they knew what he was getting up to during his “piano lessons”. That he was lying to them on where he was going when he left the house.

They would be furious, if they ever were to find out.

He paused for a moment, looking up at the scenery before him. The hotel they were staying at had a beautiful garden in the back; a playground included. He was on babysitting duty once again, keeping an eye on his brother and sister while they played with the other kids, words in Mandarin being thrown around that he could easily pick up.

What would his parents do if they found out? As he looked back down at the words of poetry written in his notebook, he frowned. An uneasy feeling twisted around in his stomach at the mere thought of their reactions. His mother; he had no doubt in mind, would probably castrate the man on sight. Dave would probably allow her to, not even stepping in to stop her. They would be furious with him; probably be ashamed of him the rest of their lives.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Greg wouldn’t understand, and Yin Wei would most likely be kept in the dark as to why they would be upset with him. At least, until she was older. He wasn’t too sure on how his younger siblings would react, but it wasn’t their business. His happiness wasn’t their business at all.

He could actually say it now. He was _happy._ Albeit in a way most people wouldn’t approve of, but why should they care? He had meant what he told Dante two months ago, in his office. He was tired of jinxing his own happiness. Of caring what others thought of him all the time. No one thought much of him to begin with, so why should they care what he did? He loved Dante. Dante loved him. What was wrong with their love?

“Wirt?”

He almost panicked, slamming his poetry book shut and tilting his head upwards to see his sister standing in front of him, ball in her hand. “Play with me,” she looked shyly at him and it almost melted his heart to see her like this. Unlike Greg, she wasn’t so forward and exuberant. She was softer, calmer. Almost like him; but without the painfully low feelings of self-worth. “Please?”

“Alright,” he sighed, setting the book to his side and stood up. She barely reached his thigh and it was so easy to pick her up. “And I’m going to take a guess and say Greg wants to play too?”

“Yeah.”

_But now you're,_

_You're looking like you really like him like him,_

_And now you're feeling like you miss him miss him,_

_You're speaking like you really love him love him_ _,_

_And now you're dancing like you need him need him_

“He’s eventually going to find you, you know.”

He looked over irritably at his friend, polishing down his scotch with a graceful; smooth gulp. He set the now empty glass down, staring coldly at the man sitting on his couch with a damn smirk on his face. Of course Enoch Barnes would find this amusing; did he really expect anything less from the man?

“Marcus Woodsman is of no consequence to me, nor do I have time for his personal vendetta.”

“Well, you should at least take care,” Enoch leaned back against the couch, the stupid smirk still on his face, yet hinting at something else. Something to take note of and be cautious. “You are the one responsible for ruining his life and putting him behind bars.

“He got in my way; what would you rather have me done?”

“Oh, I honestly don’t care really,” Enoch poured himself more scotch, watching the golden color liquid trinkle into the glass. “You were just doing a job and his foolish daughter got in the way. It was a mistake; everyone’s allowed to have them now and again. And it’s the only time you’ve ever messed up.”

It was true; he was never going to deny that. “I hear that Bill is taking over as the new head of the Cipher family,” he commented, now fully ready to change the nature of this conversation. As much as he appreciated his friend’s concern, he didn’t want to think about having to pick up and move once more. He would only move if it were completely necessary; he had been successful in throwing the man off his trail before. Marcus Woodsman was not someone to be taken lightly. “They’re in the hitman business section, are they not?”

“Yes,” Enoch nodded, staring serenely into the contents of his glass. “Besides you and his family, you’re the only ones who are in the murder business. The other prestigious members of our fair town are in the drug or human trafficking ranks. Minus a couple families, of course.”

“The Pines family, being one.”

“And the Goodman’s. He’s the preacher over at the church, I believe. His daughter’s name is Sara, correct? One of your students?”

“Yes,” he nodded, thinking of the girl now. A smart girl; a good girl. She’d never get herself caught up in their affairs. At least, he hoped not. She was such a nice girl, after all. “That’s all the families who aren’t involved, yes?”

“Not quite,” the smile on Enoch’s face grew. “Your little lover’s family is not involved either. Though, that could change if you really wanted it to.”

He scoffed. He had no intention of dragging Wirt’s family into this. They would not survive the illegal business; no, empire, that existed in this town. They were good people, who abided the law. Except for one of them. His young lover, who was all the way in China probably pining and yearning for him. It almost brought a cruel smile to his lips. Almost, anyway.

“You must really like this boy,” Enoch commented casually, after taking a slow sip from his drink. “You’ve had lovers before, but you’ve never kept them for this long. The last one you had, you killed him once you were done. This is your longest relationship, if you can even call it that.”

His dark haired friend wasn’t wrong about that. There was something about Wirt that drew him in; that made him want to keep him around longer. Perhaps it was the similarities in their backgrounds or interests. He didn’t _love_ the boy; Dante Blackwood had few emotions and love was not one of them. Fond of the boy, that was a better word. He was so young, so gullible and naïve.

He was impressionable; moldable.

He had such a painfully low self-esteem that made it easier for him to take advantage of. He could get the boy to do whatever he wanted, all in return for “love”, that the boy seemed to think they had. He liked having him around; he was refreshing. Most of the young people were ignorant; too stupid for his liking. But not Wirt. Yes, he was still young, but he was a smart boy. Just not smart enough to figure out his true intentions.

But that was not the boy’s fault. He had little experience with relationships and had never met a man like him before.

“He is quite handsome,” Enoch spoke once more. “It almost makes me want to get myself a little plaything.”

He didn’t know how long he would keep the boy. He was almost eighteen; a senior in high school in the two weeks to come. He found himself longing for the boy, to possess him once more. He had power over him; he could him to do things he had never thought he could do before. He knew the boy liked it. Not to have control; to have someone controlling him with the promise that he would be taken care of by them.

Truly, it was masochistic. It made them fit almost perfectly together. He was a sadist. The boy was a masochist.

It would be a shame if he lost interest in the boy. He had the potential for so much. If he had to end up killing him, it would be a waste.

_Got a secret,_

_Can you keep it?_

_Swear this one you’ll save,_

_Better lock it,_

_In your pocket,_

_Taking this one to the grave_

With the end of summer arising, he found himself back in his hometown.

The younger two were sad to leave China; to leave their little friends back on the playground and return to “school, yuck,” as Greg often put it. The boy was in the fifth grade now; his sister entering the first. He was now a senior and high school, almost ready to graduate the coming spring. He was excited, but for something completely different.

He had a senior English class with Mr. Blackwood.

If they could keep their secret hidden for another eight months, they would be out of the woods. After a few years, they could date openly in public without anyone making a face or giving a rude comment. Their town was surprisingly liberal for being so small; open minded to pretty much everyone who came in. He didn’t see why it would be such a big deal for a teacher and their former graduated student to start dating. He was almost a legal adult, so why should it matter if the man was going on thirty four?

His mother had insisted on taking his picture the first day back to school, tearful and excited at the same time. “I took one on your first day to kindergarten,” she told him, as if he didn’t already know that. “And now here you are; almost eighteen. My baby is growing up so fast!”

He had blushed furiously, though he hugged her back when she embraced him, head resting on her shoulder. Not the fact that she herself called him her baby, but for when he and Dante were alone together making love, the man would call him baby.

And the one time before they left on vacation, he had called him “Daddy.”

He now sat in the front row of Dante’s class, right in front of the man’s desk. When the man walked into the classroom to begin going over their syllabus, he thought he was going to lose his composure. No matter what the man was wearing, be it gray slacks and a white button up shirt, he always looked good. Handsome. Professional.

It made him want to run up and start kissing him. Yet he remained in his seat like the good little senior he was.

When he got up to leave class to head to his next one, the man had stopped him. The classroom was empty at that point; the door shut since the man didn’t have another class till third period. He was pulled into the man’s strong arms, lips pressed against his. He buried his hands in the man’s hair, bringing their faces closer together as a tongue swept through his parted lips. “I missed you,” Dante pulled back slightly before kissing him once more. Kissing so hard their teeth scrapped together. “The things I’m going to do to you later…”

He groaned into the kiss, wishing they could stay forever yet he let go of him, stepping back. “Later,” he nodded towards the man, smiling and flushing at the same time. “I have to go to class.”

The furious blush on his face didn’t even vanish, not with the way his lover was looking at him. He felt tempted to skip his next class but he was a good student, after all. It would arouse suspicion if he skipped his class.

Though, if he really thought about it, would his teacher care?

The days seemed to pass by painstakingly slowly. His birthday was the second week at school; his big one-eight as Greg enthusiastically called it. His piano lesson was that day; since they had to reschedule it due to band practice. He told his mother not to cancel it for him; that he wanted to get back to practicing as soon as possible.

“If you’re sure,” she sounded pleased, if not a little bit confused that he wanted to go so badly. “It is your birthday, though. And I didn’t even think you liked the piano that much.”

Oh, he didn’t. His piano teacher however…

“I want to go,” he insisted, shoving down the butterflies and excitement that threatened to burst. “Gotta keep at it, you know?”

“I guess,” she shrugged and set the phone back down on the dial. “I’m so proud of you Wirt. Wanting to keep to your daily task just like a grown up. You’ve really matured.”

He gave her a quick hug, almost a little unnerved by how much taller he was to her now. “Thanks, Mom,” he let her go; rubbing his hand furiously at his face to get rid of the lipstick smudge she gave him once she kissed his cheek. “Ugh, did you have to get lipstick on my cheek?”

“You’ll live,” she laughed, handing him a Kleenex. “Now off to your lesson!”

He hopped into the spare car, though technically it was his car now that he had his license. He had been driving it all last year, to and from his lesson and anywhere else he wanted to go. He could barely keep his excitement in as he drove to his teacher, no, his lover’s house. How long had it been since they’d had sex? Two months! Two months too long, in his opinion.

He knocked politely on the door, as he always did and waited for the man to answer it. Soon enough, the door opened and he stepped inside, immediately pinned up against the wall by a strong torso. “Happy birthday,” Dante whispered in his ear, kissing the shell gently before going to his lips. His legs wrapped around the man’s hips, grinding against the pelvis as the kiss deepened.

He carried him all the way to the bedroom, depositing him down on the bed and then crawling over him to start peeling off his clothing. “I promised to do things to you,” the man grinned like a wolf. “It’s been too long, don’t you agree?”

And for the next two hours, he was in paradise.

_Listening,_

_To the souls in the fool’s night,_

_Fumbling mutely with their rude hands,_

_And there’s heartache without end,_

_See the father bent in grief,_

_The mother dressed in mourning,_

_Sister crumbles; and the neighbors grumble,_

_The preacher issues warnings_

His stomach rolling was the first thing that woke him up.

He threw open the door to his bed room, fumbling around in the hallway as quickly as he could to reach the bathroom. He barely made it in time as whatever was left in his stomach from the night before emptied into the toilet. He sat there for a moment, heaving as he waited out the remains of whatever bug he had caught.

For almost a week and a half now, he had woken up sick. Without any reason at all. At first he merely thought it was food poisoning or a small bout of the flu but now, he wasn’t so sure. The thought plaguing the back of his mind wasn’t helping matters at all. It didn’t make any sense. None at all, so why did he feel so uneasy?

He had driven to the town twenty minutes away, entertaining the idea that was swimming around in his mind. It was a Saturday; only eight in the morning but he had to know. He could buy what he was looking for in Pottsfield (people would talk), so the nearest town was the safest bet. He drove back, stopping at a gas station to grab coffee and a box of donuts so that if anyone asked, he would make it seem like he just went out to go get breakfast.

No one was up by the time he got back, and he set the donuts on the counter and went back to the bathroom, locking the door. He had bought two boxes, just to be sure and followed instructions on both of them.

And he waited.

He sat on the closed toilet seat, waiting for the results with his heart slamming violently against his ribcage. This had to be a joke; this couldn’t actually be happening to him.

He couldn’t be pregnant. There was just no way on earth that could happen. Only ten percent of males had the capability of carrying children and there was just no way in hell he was one of them. It wasn’t likely; there was no way something like that could happen.

Then again, bad things did tend to follow him around.

The little stick’s change of color caught his attention and he paled at the obnoxiously happy blue plus sign. No. No, it had to be a misreading. These things weren’t always accurate, right?

So he did the test again. Pregnant. He was pregnant. The two blue pus signs, identical matches, seemed extremely delighted to tell him the good news.

Pregnant.

With Dante’s child.

Oh no, no, no, God, no!

Originally, things weren’t supposed to get so out of hand.

He curled up against the corner of the bathroom, hand shaking with terror. He placed his head in his hands, shaking his dark head and muttering “No,” to himself over and over again. This could not be happening; never in a million years did he think this would happen. What would his friends say? What would his mom and step-dad say? What would his father do when he found out?

What would _he_ do?

He sniffled, wiping the tears that burned against his dark gray eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him. This kind of stuff happened in the movies, or to girls who were messing around too much. This couldn’t be happening to him! Was this some sort of punishment? Had he truly done something so wrong to deserve this?

“What am I going to do?” he murmured to himself, continuing to wipe his eyes. “What am I going to do?”

It was a strange thing to think about. None of this would be happening if he hadn’t stepped into classroom 123, a Junior English class that last January. If he had never signed up for English poetry, then none of this would have happened. Things wouldn’t have spiraled out of control like this. It was all his fault; he should have been more careful.

In hindsight, he should have realized this was not a good idea. It should have never happened to begin with, but as that old saying goes “the heart wants what the heart wants.” Perhaps that was not the right way of thinking, but did it really matter at this point? Everything was all said and done. There was no going back now.

He just sat against the bathroom wall, crying softly as the fear radiated through his entire body. How long was he going to be able to hide this? After a couple months it would be evident and then what would he do? Would Dante go to jail? Even if he didn’t tell anyone who the father was, what if the baby looked like the father?

Abortion was out of the question. He was pro-choice for everyone else, but for himself, he knew he couldn’t do it. He would never be able to go through with it; he couldn’t kill the baby he and Dante conceived out of love.

For the next few days, he went around in a numb sort of phase. His family was concerned, but even as they kept asking him if something was wrong, he didn’t tell them. His friends kept pressuring him to tell them what was wrong, but he shrugged them off, saying he was tired.

He couldn’t fool Dante though.

“I don’t believe you,” the man had cornered him after class, waiting till everyone was gone. He leaned up against his desk, arms crossed as he narrowed those sharp pale gray eyes at him. “I know a liar when I see one. What’s wrong? Is it your father?”

Dante knew about his father; hearing about him from both him and his mother. He shook his head. “No,” his voice was barely above a whisper and before he could stop the words from tumbling out, they burst through his lips like butterflies from a net. “Dante, I’m pregnant.”

Dante was silent, staring at him in a mixture of astonishment, disbelief, and confusion.

Over the past few days, he knew when the baby had been implanted inside him. His birthday, Dante hadn’t used protection. All the other times they had and to his knowledge, the condoms had never broken before. “Dante,” his voice became firmer, trying to get through to the man. “Dante, I’m pregnant with _your_ baby.”

“You better get to your next class,” Dante cleared his throat, speaking coldly; briskly. “Go or you’ll be late.”

“But-“

“Just go.”

His voice was firm. Absolute. Speaking of authority and power. He had never heard him use that tone before and it sent a chill of fear down his spine. He almost ran out of the classroom, wondering how worse things could get.

 The universe liked to mock him, or so it seemed.

Dante didn’t speak to him for a week, keeping silent and acting as though they were merely teacher and student. Nothing more, nothing less. And it only brought him more misery and more pain. How was he going to take care of this baby on his own? Without the father? How was he going to explain things to his mother and step-father? How was his own father going to react when he heard the news?

As he stepped into the living room after school a week later, he felt the sense of dread increase tenfold. His mother sat on the couch, holding a stick in her hand and her face abnormally pale. She didn’t even look at him; she just stared at the stick for the longest time. He shifted uncomfortably, setting his backpack on the ground and biting his lip. How long had she known? Why oh why hadn’t he tossed the stick out sooner?

“How long?”

Her voice was soft, but he knew better to think it was shock. She was angry. She got quiet when she was truly angry and for a moment, he feared for his life. “Two weeks now,” he replied in defeat, hanging his head low. “I’ve known for two weeks.”

She didn’t say anything for the longest time, clenching the stick tightly in her soft, yet worn, hands. He could hear the clock in the living room tick loudly; the sound ringing in his ears. The front door opened once more, the sound of childishi laugher seeping through. The thoughts dawned on him once more. His child would sound like that one day. He was going to have kids. Sooner rather than later.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god….

“Who’s the father?”

Shit, he was really hoping she wouldn’t ask that. She stared up at him, tears welling up in her eyes. A mix of sadness, anger and worse, disappointment. “Who is the father?” she asked again, a bit harder this time. Her expression changed to fear and worry. “You weren’t raped, were you? Oh God, Wirt, did someone hurt you?”

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

They turned to see Greg and Yin Wei in the archway, the girl holding tightly to the older boy’s hand. “Gregory, Yin Wei, rooms. Now.”

Greg looked confused. “But Mom-“

“Now!” she narrowed her eyes at him sternly. “Don’t argue, just go. Right now, Gregory.”

The boy quickly scampered off, their sister behind him. He could hear their shoes stomping up the stairs and he wished to god that the ground would just swallow him up. She turned to him once more, all her anger focused on him now. “Did someone make you do something?” she asked, standing up from the couch and staring up at him, searching his eyes. “Who did this to you?”

“I…I…”

“Tell me,” she pleaded, the sadness returning once more. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, Walter. Please tell me who did this to you.”

“I…” there was no way he was ratting out Dante; there was no way in hell he would ever do that. “I don’t know.”

She put a hand over her mouth, a choked sobbing sound coming out as the stick fell onto the floor. She gazed at him once more, dark eyes not holding back the tears. “Did someone rape you? Oh God, my baby,” she sat down, tears falling to the floor. “Oh God, oh God…”

 She had trailed off, speaking rapidly in Mandarin while he stood there, not saying anything against her words. In the eyes of the law, it would be considered rape since he was still in high school. In his heart, it wasn’t. He was willing; he’d always been willing. The court, however, would not see it that way. Dante would lose his job; his career ruined. His own chances at college would be ruined as well. Yet, he found he couldn’t care too much about that. Dante’s livelihood was more important than his.

The door opened once more, signaling that Dave had returned home. The man walked in quickly, hearing his mother’s crying and looked from her, to Wirt, to the white stick lying on the hardwood floor. Just like him and his mother, his face paled. “What happened?”

He ran away from the scene, not wanting to hear those words ever again. He slammed his door shut, curling up on his bed into a little ball. Everything was collapsing around him. He had lost his lover. He lost Dante. He was going to lose his family, his friends. He carefully placed a hand on his stomach, as though to feel the life form growing inside him. With all he had lost, he had gained one thing.

A baby. His little son or daughter depended on him now.

What was he going to do?

He sat numbly on the bed, too exhausted to cry. He could hear his mother and step-father downstairs speaking in what they considered hushed tones. He couldn’t block out Dave’s anger and his mother’s crying. Greg and Yin Wei’s room was silent, the two of them no doubt confused and scared as to what was going on.

He felt fearful for the baby when he heard the words abortion and DNA testing. If they found out Dante was the father, it would be the end for the man. The town would probably hate the baby; label him as some kind of whore and the baby as a bastard. He didn’t want that; he didn’t want any of that. He just wanted to disappear. Disappear with Dante and the baby and just get away from the town. Get away from all the sorrow and anger that was surrounding his home.

He lay there on the bed, watching with a vacant expression as the sun sunk lower in the sky. He didn’t come down for dinner, even when the younger children did. His mother had knocked on the door, asking if he wanted anything but he didn’t respond. She didn’t even open the door to prod him even further to eat something.

He lay there for hours, not even caring when his phone died. He had moved to set it on the charger. It was around midnight; he knew this by the way his alarm clock switched numbers. He could hear the sound of his mother and step-father sleeping; Greg and Yin Wei as well. Yet he lay awake, the thoughts swimming around in his mind.

The only thing that shook him was his phone vibrating on his desk with a soft buzzing sound. He grabbed it, heart leaping when he realized it was Dante’s number.

**Come outside.**

The message read and he quickly got out of bed, opening his door quietly and slipping outside into the hallway. He tiptoed down the stairs, keeping in mind not to alert anyone else in the house. The front door made the most noise so he crept into the kitchen, opening the door there that led out to where they kept their trashcans. From there he trudged quietly to the front of the house, heart fluttering at the sight before him.

Dante, dressed in all black with his car off and blending into the dark night sky. He could barely see him; it was almost too dark to see anything with the new moon in the sky. Yet he could make out Dante’s shape.

“What are you doing here?” he asked softly, carefully. “I thought…you didn’t want me anymore.”

“Did I ever say that?” the man tilted his head, as though amused by the question. “I had to get some things in order. I couldn’t have you know quite yet as to what I’ve been planning.”

“What?”

“I have papers here from…a friend of mine. Documentation letters,” the man smiled at him, extending a hand out. “Come with me, Walter. We can run away together. Leave this life behind you.”

“But my family,” he glanced back to the house, back to where his family lay sleeping. “My friends. School. How can I leave it?”

“You won’t have much of a life here,” the man argued softly, hand still extended out. “Will your family truly love the baby? And the town. As liberal as it might be, there are still some things they won’t accept. And if your parents make you get a DNA test, what will happen to you? To me? And what if they make you get an abortion?”

The man stepped forward; eyes staring almost hypnotically back at him. “Come with me,” he purred, soft and low. “None of these people here care about you like I do. Do they know the real you? They’ve never cared about what you wanted. Come with me, I’ll take care of you, Walter. You and the baby. You can trust me.”

He looked back to the house once more, nibbling softly on his lip. He thought Dante wouldn’t want him anymore; that he had abandoned him. Yet here he was, offering for them to run away and live his life with Dante. They wouldn’t have to hide their love. They wouldn’t have to go through a trial. He could be free. Free to love and be loved by the man. If he said yes, he would be leaving everything behind. His family, friends, his future.

All so he could be with Dante. He was nothing without the man. He wasn’t worth anything; the baby would be nothing if he or she didn’t have Dante in their life. He didn’t even think he could live without the man.

His phone slipped from his hand, falling to the ground with a clunk.

He took Dante’s hand.

_Listening,_

_For the hope; for the new life,_

_Something beautiful, a new chance,_

_Hear its whispering there again_

**(Two months later)**

She pressed the little blue onesie to her cheek, closing her eyes for a mere moment to allow the grief to come through.

It had been two months. Two months since Wirt disappeared without a trace. She had woken up one morning two months ago to find his bed empty. To find his cellphone broken on the ground. Her baby, her first child, was gone. No note, no nothing. It was like he never existed in the first place.

The town had been shaken up by it, the school speaking whispers as to what they thought had happened. Of course Wirt’s friends were over almost all the time, mystified and a bit spooked as to what happened. None of them knew Wirt was pregnant. Neither of them knew the father as well.

Except, she knew. God knew she couldn’t prove it, but she had a gut feeling as to who the father was. The same time Wirt had disappeared, Dante disappeared as well. It all sort of clicked into place and she knew that the man, the very same man she had invited into their home, had impregnated her son and kidnapped him.

 She felt like such an idiot for not noticing it sooner. The police had done nothing to find him, saying that it was out of their hands at this point. A lie; it had to be a lie. They hadn’t done a single thing in finding her son. Almost as though they had been instructed not to.

She put the baby clothes down, setting them back into the box. Wirt’s baby clothes. She had kept them; she kept all their baby clothes. She didn’t expect to lose her firstborn son. She didn’t even expect to lose her first grandchild. It had all happened too fast; too soon. She wasn’t sure which hurt her more. The fact her son lied to her or the fact that he disappeared without telling her.

Their house no longer felt like a home. Greg and Yin Wei had taken it especially hard; the two of them too young to know fully what was going on. David was upset as well, even though Wirt wasn’t even his own child. Mortimer didn’t even care, though that wasn’t surprising. The man hadn’t even seen his son since he was in elementary school.

She would give anything to hold her baby in her arms again. She would trade her own soul just to have him back. It was every mother’s worst nightmare and now, she completely understood why. She had seen the news reports of mothers losing their children; having them disappear without a trace. She felt their pain; their sadness. She blamed herself even if it wasn’t her fault.

How much of Wirt’s life did she really know? How much of his pain; his secrets and other mysteries did she not know? Did she even really know her son at all? God knows she loved him, but how much did he keep hidden from her? Why did he feel the need to keep things hidden from her?

A knock at the door disrupted her thoughts and she stood up, walking slowly towards the front door. She opened it, revealing man possibly in his late fifties to early sixties dressed in gray looking at her. “Mrs. Macavin,” his voice had a gravely sound to it, rough that contrasted with his kind face. “My name is Marcus Woodsman and I would like to help you find your son.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. MPreg. I know some people aren't that into it and trust me, I'm not a super huge fan either but it is kind of a fun idea to play around with. I tried keeping it kind of vague and not too explicit. I don't find using the Alpha/Beta/Omega trope to be very comfortable. It's just not something I play around with.
> 
> Also on an unrelated note, am I the only one creeped out with Deerper? Dipper as a deer and Bill as a hunter. Monster falls I don't mind too much; it's not my favorite universe but Deerper is just too out there for me. Especially with some of the art out there. How does that even work? HE'S A DEER! Or cervitaur, or whatever.


	3. Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wirt continues down a dark path far from grace and light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hey! I know it's been a year since I've updated this one, but I just wasn't in the mood to work on it. Originally it was just going to be three, but I decided to push it to four. This chapter is short in comparison to the other two, but I decided to divide them up so it doesn't drag on. The next chapter will be the last. 
> 
> I don't know when that will be since I'm busy but I will try to get it out later this month or next. I'm just ready for this one to be done so I can start the next XD

_You said you don’t have to speak,_

_I can hear you,_

_I can feel all the things you’ve felt before,_

_I said it’s been a long time,_

_Since someone looked at me that way,_

_It’s like you knew me,_

_And all the things I couldn’t say_

He watched from the bathroom doorway, pale eyes looking over the figure of the young boy sitting on the bed. Wirt was too distracted to notice him, hands running over the small bump that was beginning to develop. He was beginning to change, a sure sign that he was indeed pregnant and carrying a baby.

_Their baby._

His hands clenched tightly around the hilt of the knife concealed in the holster attached to his leg hidden by his pants. He’d been contemplating it for a while; killing the boy would be no problem. There were plenty of opportunities to do so in the two months they’d been on the run. Different ways he could kill him too, ranging from excruciating and slow to so quick he wouldn’t even realize what had happened. He had plenty of time to do so; many opportunities.

And yet, he couldn’t.

It wasn’t the fact there was a baby growing inside him; he’d killed pregnant women before. He was too attached to the young man sitting on the bed they’d been sharing the past two nights. Too fond of him; not ready to give him up quite yet. Wirt was so wrapped around his finger. Never questioning his decisions; never questioning the weapons stored in his car trunk. He hadn’t even cried once at the knowledge that he would never see his family or friends again.

“I think it’s a girl,” the boy, no, the young man, sighed happily. “Wouldn’t that be nice, Dante?”

He didn’t say anything, opting to observe and remain silent instead. The young man looked at him with an adoring smile, a light pink blush dusting across his cheeks. “You know, there’s something I haven’t told you; I’m not sure how to say it,” the smile faded a little yet the blush only darkened. “I’d kill for you.”

He stared impassively at him, not at all showing the skeptical thoughts running around in his mind. “Would you now?” he asked, stepping forward to stand in front of him. He cupped his face, Wirt instantly leaning into the touch and looking up at him through his long lashes. Those dark gray eyes stared up at him with adoration, unyielding and full of what he dared call love.

Damn, those eyes. They truly were beautiful. The cruel part of him laughed ironically at the twisted thought that formed in his mind. He could not kill this young man. He had created him; morphed him into something that hadn’t been there a few months ago. It had been easy getting him to leave his family; to leave the life he’d been living behind him. And for what he had noticed, the young man didn’t regret any of it.

The young man nodded, looking back down at his stomach. “For you and the baby,” he amended, an almost innocent statement if not for the determination that burned in his eyes. “I’m sure my family is looking for me and knowing them, they won’t ever give up. I’m not going to let them take me away from you. Or take you away from me.”

He could feel the promise in his tone; could feel the weight of his words. Wirt was being honest, something he himself rarely was. However, as the saying went, actions spoke louder than words. He needed the young man to prove it. Prove just how serious he was. A long time ago, Enoch suggested taking Bill Cipher as a protégée but he had easily declined that offer. Bill was too spontaneous; to free spirited to follow anyone’s orders besides his own. Yet Enoch, as passive aggressive as he could get, always had leverage against people.

Even himself.

It would be interesting to see how far the young man sitting before him would go. Just for him and the little one growing inside him. Perhaps he was serious, but only time would tell if he was. If he truly couldn’t prove himself, then he would lose his usefulness. If that were the case, he would kill him.

If not, then perhaps there was some good to come out of the situation after all.

As he moved forward on the bed once more, he kissed his lover and almost smirked at the fact that he instantly complied with what he wanted. Long legs wrapped around his waist as he straddled him, their noses brushing against one another and fingers entwining. They hadn’t joined together as one in a long time, with Wirt being sick and uninterested most of the time. Though the baby would be reaching the second trimester before too long and recently, he had noticed the yearning looks the young man had been sending him.

He released one of his hands, reaching down to his lover’s stomach. He could feel the bump underneath his palm and though it was too early for the baby to kick, he could feel its rapidly growing presence. The thought of him, of all people, creating a baby with a teenager would have made him laugh all those years ago. He was so much older than him; much more mature. He figured that he would never have children; never had the desire or time to have one. Yet here he was now.

The universe had a funny way of mocking him. You chose to take life away? Here, be the father of a new living being!

Irony was a strange thing.

When he had told Enoch, the man had merely laughed. The longest laugh he’d ever heard from the lanky and dapper dressed man. Even Bill when he found out had laughed though that wasn’t entirely surprising. Of course Enoch had helped him get out of the town; had given him the fake documents to start a new life once more. And he had plenty of contacts to reach; plenty of safe houses to go to.

The safe house they were currently staying in was on the coast of Maine, a long ways away from the small town of Pottsfield. He knew for certain the policemen in the town were corrupt; their ties with the crime syndicate in the town deep and long lasting for years. Of course he knew Wirt’s mother and step-father. They would never stop looking for their son and grandchild.

Nor would Marcus Woodsman. Enoch had tipped him off a few days ago that the man was already in contact with the young lover’s family.

He grinned wryly at this. His “mortal nemesis”, would never find him. He was always one step ahead of the man, who was in his late fifties or mid-sixties by now. He was getting older every year and eventually, he would be too old to look for him; to extract his petty vengeance.

Or he would die. Either way, he would never win.

_That I belong to you,_

_That endless nights are faraway,_

_Are gone and you,_

_Could never love another,_

_And I love you too,_

_I see it up above and now,_

_I feel the truth_

The early December morning started out normally for Mortimer Palmer.

He’d done his usual morning routine, the same one he’d been doing for the past twenty or so years. He got up, took a quick shower before dressing professionally for work. Then he went into the kitchen to fix himself a cup of coffee and a bagel before heading out of his apartment for work. A simple mundane routine he did everyday unless his girlfriend of three years now came over.

Despite it being a simple day, he couldn’t help but feel there was something slightly…off. The forecast over New York City was cloudy, with the promise of light rain or snow. There was certainly a lot going on to cause him unease. His girlfriend wanting him to spend Christmas with her family, where he intended to propose to her and marry her sometime in the upcoming year. He hadn’t been married in a long time, with the last one ending up badly and the two of them divorcing only nine years later. He still kept in touch with his ex-wife, though only once every few months and while everything between them was fine now, it sure was awkward to talk to her. Especially about his girlfriend. He wasn’t even sure if his son knew about her.

Then again, he and his son weren’t close. He hadn’t seen him since Xiāng ling and Dave got married and even when he stayed with him for the week, they hadn’t spoken or seen each other much. He figured it was for the best that they didn’t see each other often. He wasn’t a father figure and now his son had a step-father to fill that role. He wasn’t a necessary part for Wirt’s life.

Although he was now beginning to rethink that ever since he got the phone call from Xiāng ling that their son was missing. And pregnant. He didn’t even think his son fell into the ten percent of males who could carry children but there he was. He didn’t know what his ex-wife expected him to do; he had no idea where his son would go. He didn’t even know the kid that well.

Still, it didn’t sit right with him. As he pulled the collar of his coat closer to him, he could feel it. Something wasn’t right, like a bad omen had begun to cover the city. That something was going to happen and he knew it wasn’t going to be something good. Lord knew he couldn’t prove it, but he just had the itching suspicion that he wasn’t alone.

Of course he was on the side walk of the city, heading on his way to work. Yet he could feel the eyes watching him. He lived in a good neighborhood, with a low crime rate and plenty of other white collared people living in their penthouses. There shouldn’t be anyone trying to jump him just so they could steal his wallet. He didn’t carry cash on him and if they tried to use his card, he could just cancel it, order a new one and laugh about it later.

So no, he wasn’t entirely prepared when a hand reached out and pressed a cloth over his face. And of course it had to happen when he walked by an alleyway on a block that was surprisingly remote for this time of day.

When he awoke, he realized he’s bound to a chair, the rope cutting into his skin so tightly it stings. He didn’t know where he was; only that it looked to be some sort of warehouse.  Old, with rickety floor boards and broken windows. From what he could see, it WAS already night time outside which mean t he’s missed a whole day of work, something he hasn’t done in years.

But he had more important things to worry about right now. As he struggled in the chair he’s bound to, he registered a voice chuckling nearby. A voice so low he couldn’t help the small tremor of fear that stilled his movements. A man emerged from the shadows, dressed entirely in black. He’s around his age, maybe a bit younger, but there’s a deadly calmness in his eyes. There’s a gun in his hand, sleek and shiny in the dim lighting of the warehouse. He immediately starts struggling against the binds, eyes glued tightly to the gun.

The man’s thin lips quirk upwards in an amused smirk as he lowered the gun. “Do not worry, Mortimer Palmer,” that low voice stills his movements again, those pale eyes burning into his own. “I’m not going to kill you.”

The man moved aside gracefully, allowing another figure to emerge from the shadows. The tall pale man only grinned, hand resting on the newcomer’s shoulders. “He is.”

It takes him a moment to realize who the newcomer is. His eyes widened to the size of golf balls, a painful sound of disbelief breaking through his chapped lips. “Walter?” he could not believe this; there’s no way his son would be here. Yet, he’s standing right in front of him, almost the spitting image of himself. The child he and his ex-wife conceived together. It was almost like looking at Xiāng ling all over again; their identical eyes looking at him with such serenity. Preventing him from wondering what was going on inside their heads. “Walter? What? Why are you here?”

The teen, no, his son, only gazed at him coldly. Those beautiful eyes only piercing bluntly into his soul. He snapped out of this reverie when he noticed that pale hand resting on his son’s shoulder, squeezing it in a tender, disturbing fashion. “Let go of him!” he snarled, attempting to get out again. “Wirt, get away from him! Go get the police!”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s going to do that,” the man only laughed, a deep sound that only made his stomach twist. “Mortimer, my name is Dante Blackwood. I was your son’s English teacher not too long ago,” he wrapped his arms around the teen, hand resting gingerly on the small bump that wasn’t too noticeable, but definitely not invisible. “He’s having my baby. _Our_ baby.”

He didn’t know what disturbed him more. The fact this monster impregnated his son, or the fact that Wirt was leaning comfortably into the embrace. “Let go of him!” he snapped angrily. “Wirt, get away from him!”

“You can’t tell me what to do!” he blinked at the anger coming from his son, those eyes snapping to him once more. The man, Dante, released him and Wirt stepped forward. He’s shaking, with either fear or anger and he knew it’s directed towards him. He was so close to him now, the man not too far away. Like an ever lingering shadow. “I don’t have to listen to you.”

“Wirt,” trying to reason with him seemed to be the best way to go; he really couldn’t stand the anger on the teenager’s face. “Whatever he’s making you do, you don’t have to do it.”

“He’s not making me do anything.”

“What?”

“That’s right,” Dante’s smile was all too threatening, full of gleamingly white teeth. He had an arm wrapped around Wirt’s waist, nuzzling the side of his face with perturbing affection. He watched on  with dismay as the man slipped the gun into his son’s hand. “You can do this, Wirt. This man has done nothing but hurt you. He doesn’t deserve to call himself your father.

This man was old enough to be his son’s…no, he didn’t even want to finish that sentence. He felt tempted to try and kick the man away from him, but he could only watch with horror as his son clenched the gun tightly. “Wirt, please-“

“SHUT UP!”

It was like he’d been slapped across the face. He’d never in his life ever heard his son speak to him that way. Full of anger, of past hurt, and, he swallowed the last part down the best he could. Hate. There’s hate burning in his eyes. He’s still shaking, Dante smiling all the while, waiting for the teen to pull the trigger. He doesn’t think Wirt will be able to do it. He’d always been a rather passive child, weak-willed and lacking any sort of gumption for life. He didn’t expect the kid to amount to much. Then again, he also didn’t expect the boy to be holding a gun to his face.

“You…you…” Wirt’s voice was so soft, almost a whisper at this point. But he could still hear the anger in it; the unadulterated rage. “Where were you when I needed you? I wanted you to love me! Why couldn’t you love me? Was I not good enough?”

He couldn’t even answer that. Dante kissed his cheek, lips trailing towards his ear as he purred into it. “All you have to do is pull the trigger, Wirt. Then we can be together; you’ll have proven to me that you meant what you said. You, and I, and our baby can be one happy family.”

He’s now tempted to throw up now. “Oh my God, stop talking like that!” way too painfully aware of the ropes and of the other eyes that continue to glare at him. “Get away from him! Wirt, call the fucking police! Now!”

“Hear that?” Dante hissed into Wirt’s ear. “He wants to take you away from me. Then they’ll take you home; back to that town where no one ever noticed you. They’ll take the baby away from both of us; shove it into the foster system because there is no way they’ll ever allow you to care and love what we created.”

The very mention of the unborn child growing inside of Wirt was enough for the young teen to still in his shaking. Dante brought his chin towards him, kissing his son deeply. Wirt moaned into the kiss, allowing the older man to violate his mouth. They didn’t even seem to care that he was still in the room, still tied to the chair and clearing his throat awkwardly. He wanted to throw up, the bile rising in the back of his throat.

“Do it, my light,” Dante released Wirt’s lip, tracing the bottom lip with his thumb. “Destroy the thing that’s caused you so much pain. He’s never loved you, not like I do. No one will ever love you as much as I do.”

There was a deafening crack that resonated throughout the entire building.

A day later, the body of Mortimer Palmer was found in the warehouse by a construction crew. Two days later, the announcement that Mortimer Palmer, forty year son of Gerald and Karen Palmer, was dead reached the citizens of New York and his family members. Cause of death, a bullet to his head.

Many attended the funeral, his parents, friends from work and on the side, childhood friends, and even Xiāng ling and her family showed up in support. She stood in front of the closed casket, arm around the shoulders of Anna Bennett, his girlfriend and would have been fiancé. A friend told her the man had been planning to propose to her, hence the black velvet box in his coat pocket. They would have left for the woman’s parents’ home that night to spend Christmas, where he’d been planning to propose.

All they found on the body was his wallet and an empty box.

_Would you die for me?_

_That’s too easy._

_Would you live for me?_

_Yes._

_Careful, do not say this oath thoughtlessly,_

_Desire becomes surrender. Surrender becomes power,_

_Do you want this?_

He certainly wasn’t expecting for Dante to propose to him.

The gunshot resonated in his ear, smoke hissing from the gun as the bullet shot out. There was blood everywhere, decorating his face while brain matter splattered onto the floor. Dante had kissed him immediately after that, wiping the blood from his face. Well, smearing it all over as the kiss deepened and their tongues began to dance with each other. “You did it, Young Lover,” he had whispered as the kiss broke. “You proved yourself to me. I am so very, very proud of you.”

He nearly fainted right then and there. Dante was proud of him! Proud of him!

The man let go of his shaking body, reaching inside his pocket and kneeling down on one knee. He took his hands, covered with blood and kissed them. Leaning forward to kiss the small bump on his belly. He released his right hand, taking his left while holding a black velvet box with the other. He nearly did a double take at the sight. Dante merely grinned. “You’ll be my bloodstained bride, won’t you?”

He only nodded his head, too shocked to say anything else as the golden ring with three sparkling diamonds slid perfectly onto his left ring finger. When the tears start falling down his cheeks, he blamed his stupid hormones.

They left New York City immediately, one of Dante’s friends driving them to a safe house in Vermont. From there, they took a car and headed all the way up to Piedmont, California, where the New York Police would never catch them. Dante said it was unlikely that anyone would be tracking them. He’s been trained to not leave a mess behind. It’s why he’s never been caught, he reminded  him almost a bit too casually.

They stayed in Piedmont for three months, with Dante doing odd jobs every now and then to earn some extra money.  By odd jobs, he meant that he received information from Enoch to get rid of someone that had been poking around. They didn’t really need it; Dante’s pretty much set for life, but the man liked to be busy. He could tell he didn’t like to sit still for very long. That they needed to keep moving to avoid a man named Marcus Woodsman. He didn’t even know the man, but he felt irritated with him. Perhaps it was just the hormones making him that way, but he wasn’t going to let old man take his husband away from him.

They had gotten married shortly after reaching Piedmont. There was a woman in power there, a friend of Dante’s from a long time ago. Her name was Adelaide, who was the mayor of Alameda County. He didn’t like the look of her, an unsettling feeling stirring inside of him the first moment he looked at her. She was old, wearing clothes typical of an old woman but she was anything but that. She had sharpness to her, cold blue eyes calculating and full of deviousness. He wouldn’t ever want to get on her bad side.

She stood witness to their union, signing the documents and handing them over. Two identical gold bands sat on their fingers, a reminder that Dante belonged to him, and that he belonged to Dante. Those thoughts made his hormones go wild and he yearned to have Dante alone with him. They spent the entire rest of the day making love and like always, it was perfect.  For once in his life, he was happy. He didn’t have to worry about anything; Dante would take care of him for the rest of their lives.

They headed to St. Augustine, Florida, in the middle of his sixth month of pregnancy. The bump was definitely noticeable; there’s no way he could hide it even if he wanted to. The house sat near the beach with two bedrooms and a bright yellow kitchen that he immediately fell in love with. Dante was not particularly fond of the hot weather, but the man never complained. He even left the house for a little while, returning later with a crib from a nearby thrift store.

Dante said they’ll have a son, but he doesn’t think so. He doesn’t know how he knows that, but the little one inside him was definitely a girl. The man liked to feel his stomach, especially when he was thinking hard about something. He’d rest his hand on the bump, cold hand smoothing over his warm flesh. It comforts him, he thinks, but he doesn’t really know.

_My freakiness is on the loose,_

_And running all over you,_

_Please take me to places,_

_That nobody, nobody, goes,_

_You got me hooked up on the feeling,_

_You got me hanging from the ceiling,_

_Got me so high up I’m barely breathing,_

_So don’t let me, don’t let me, don’t let me go_

It turned out he was right.

On June 10, on a warm afternoon, their daughter entered the world.

He knew that labor would be painful, but he never thought it would be _that_ painful. It hurt more than anything he’d ever imagined and if Dante hadn’t of been there with him, he didn’t think he’d be able to do it. When she finally came out, there’s a flood of relief that washed over him and a sense to grab her, their daughter, away from the nurse holding her.

She’s a tiny thing, with a full head of very dark brown hair and Asian features. He could see a lot of himself in her; they shared the same eye color and she had her father’s very pale skin. Her cheeks were chubby and at times she could be a bit fussy but he knew how to handle that. Greg was a fussy baby as well. She always seemed to be full of energy, crying in the middle of the night until someone (mostly him) got up to calm her down or feed her.

By her fourth month they figured out she had a specific cry they dubbed as “I want my Daddy,” cry. A cry that doesn’t stop until Dante gets up, usually with a choice word that wasn’t very nice, and holds her until she stops and goes back to sleep. He knew that Dante didn’t mind it; he was a night owl anyway but he’d seen the two of them interact. The soft smile he would only reserve for the two of them as she stretched her small arms up towards him.

They named her Historia, after Dante’s late mother. It was a bit of a mouthful and for the most part, they just called her Tori.

A year after her birth, they ventured out of St. Augustine. He tried not to feel too sad about it, but the little house near the beach almost felt like home. Just him, Dante, and their darling baby girl. He’d take her on strolls near the beach, stopping to let people coo at her and comment on how adorable she was. He took immense pride in it. That he and Dante were able to create such a beautiful creature. Even if she could be a little too fussy sometimes. Then she’d flash them a smile that would rival that of an angel.

Her first words were typical words, nothing out of the ordinary. He’d been feeding her one morning when she smiled at him and said, “Māma”. He just smiled at her, completely overjoyed by how smart she was and he noticed that even Dante, while reading the paper and drinking coffee, smiled. The second word she learned, unfortunately, was the word, “No.”

They arrived somewhere in Iowa, in the middle of the night with Tori on his hip while they headed into the house. It was small, like the beach house, but it didn’t have the same charm. Still, it was better than nothing so he didn’t complain too much. He also didn’t complain when Dante crawled on top of him after he put Tori to sleep, giving him a dangerous smirk that only made him want the man in every way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that escalated quickly. Good luck Wirt. Fuck you, Beast, but not really.
> 
> Please send me a request for a new story in this series! I love requests and would love to see what you all are thinking.

**Author's Note:**

> Bad Beast! Bad! 
> 
> Other characters will appear soon and the next chapter will definitely have more development into the psyche and the reactions of the people around them.


End file.
